#he said he was going to 'ease into' painting actual subjects. ????????

[butchlifeguard]

they wont let me drop this fucking painting class. im going to do some happy gilmore shit

[clotpolesonly]

Six Of One

welcome to another episode of "Jess projects her experiences onto fictional characters" 😂 it's been a little while! (i strongly suspect that this experience of mine is the 'tism somehow, hence me subjecting my autistic king Declan to it) anyway, the title is a truncation of the phrase "six of one, half dozen of another" which means that two options are equal in value and, thus, it doesn't actually matter which you choose. one is as good as the other. | Jordeclan | Gen | 2.3k | Established Relationship | Verbal Shutdown | Accommodations | Fluff | (also on AO3)

The new studio space was spacious, well-lit, and blissfully free of vegetable-esque breasts. This one also had an elevator instead of three flights of stairs, thank God. Declan stepped out of it and into the familiar scent of turpentine and canvas, strong even though all the doors along the hallway were currently closed. A small, private smile tugged at his lips, despite his mood.

Perhaps it wasn’t right to call it a mood. By all accounts, Declan felt fine. His day had gone well so far, with a number of business transactions handled smoothly and efficiently, a phone number attained for a frustratingly difficult to track down associate-of-an-associate-of-an-associate, and several texts exchanged with Ronan with hardly any insults involved. It was breezy outside with just a hint of chill in the air signaling the incoming cold snap. The barista at the café had called him Derek again, but she’d finally gotten his coffee order just right. Matthew had only been five minutes late to soccer practice instead of his usual ten.

Declan had had far more stressful days than this one—he could practically see the look Ronan would give him for the sheer magnitude of that understatement—and yet he couldn’t help the tightness in his shoulders as he let himself into the studio.

Jordan was at her easel, engrossed in whatever she was working on today. Music spilled from her laptop, as it often did when she painted, and her voluminous cloud of curls jounced with every enthusiastic bop of her head. The baggy jean overalls she’d taken to wearing had been released from her shoulders, straps instead tied haphazardly around her waist to leave her in a mildly paint-splattered sports bra instead. She was barefoot.

Some of Declan’s tension eased.

The Artist Unbound, oil on canvas, he thought. Or perhaps pastels, to capture the soft haziness of the feeling that grew in his chest to see her like this. Not for the first time, he considered taking Jordan up on her offer to teach him how to actually make art himself, instead of only appreciating others’. It was always said with a teasing lilt, but she meant it. Every time, she meant it.

It wasn’t until one track flipped over to another less to Jordan’s liking that she noticed his presence. She immediately rerouted from the laptop to dance her way across the room, smiling, until she was close enough to kiss him.

“About time, Pozzi,” she said, arms sliding around Declan’s waist. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen down a manhole or slipped through a sewer grate or something equally cartoonish and ridiculous. Not because I thought it likely—I mean, let’s be honest, if anyone is going to fall prey to cartoon physics in this, the real world, it would definitely be Ronan—but I’ll admit, I did get a certain amount of schadenfreude from the mental image. Hope you don’t mind, love you lots, anyway, what took you so long? Did Matthew lose a fight with his cleats again?”

Declan opened his mouth to tell her about the Masshole who cut him off right when he needed to change lanes to catch his exit. He was going to tell her about the lady’s flowery “Choose Kindness” bumper sticker and make a quip about irony. “If only I could be that lacking in self-awareness,” he planned to say, “it’s probably so much easier to live that way.”

He didn’t say any of it. He thought it. He thought it clearly and fluently, all the words lined up and ready to go. Then he opened his mouth and nothing came out.

His shoulders inched back up toward his ears. Jordan’s fingers dug into his back, no doubt feeling the tension creep in there as well, and she pulled back a bit to look at him.

“Alright, bruv?”

Declan closed his mouth. He nodded. It both was and was not the truth.

Jordan tilted her head to the side, lips pursing. She didn’t look concerned, which Declan appreciated, but the scrutiny brought more color to his cheeks than he would’ve liked.

Tone light and easy, she said, “Hand-Cat got your tongue with its weird little hands?”

That mental image, every bit as cartoonish as Ronan falling down a manhole and twice as disturbing, yanked a laugh out of him. Jordan’s smile was smug, like it always was when she managed to make Declan laugh in a way that would embarrass him if he’d done it in public, but she was still watching him carefully. Looking for clues, maybe, or for an explanation.

Declan wanted to tell her, It’s fine.

He wanted to tell her, You don’t need to worry, it’s only that my mouth has spontaneously developed a dysfunction where it refuses to produce sound.

He wanted to tell her, This happens sometimes. No, I don’t know why.

He wanted to tell her, All the words are still in here, I just can’t seem to get them out.

Instead, he fished his phone out of his pocket. He opened up their text thread and typed out a message, turning it around for her to read instead of sending it.

[Do you mind if I talk like this?]

Jordan had to pull back further to squint at the small screen, tightening her grip on his waist to keep from tipping over backwards. A crease appeared between her eyebrows, lips pursing again. Her eyes darted to his face for a mere second, assessing, and then her face cleared. She shrugged expansively.

“Doesn’t make any difference to me, Pozzi. Words in air, words on a screen—six of one, if you know what I mean. Call it a baker’s dozen if you throw in emojis. Did Matthew teach you about those yet? The silly little pictures the kids are using these days?”

Declan rolled his eyes. He typed out another message.

[I’m acquainted with the concept of emojis, yes. I didn’t even need Matthew’s tutelage in them.]

He included a little old man emoji to punctuate the statement. It might have been the first time he had ever actually utilized an emoji in a text message, but Jordan didn’t need to know that. It made her laugh, anyway, which was the important thing.

She stepped back out of their embrace, her hands taking a brief detour to squeeze his ass before letting him go completely, and dug her own phone out of one of her overall pockets. She held it up with a jaunty little shake.

“Mind if I respond out loud?” she asked, walking backwards in the direction of her half-finished painting. “Only, this shit’s messy, and touchscreens and fingerpainting don’t get along very well. Though I suppose I could make something avant garde out of it. Statement about the sanitization of the internet and corporate whatever-you-like killing the creative spirit and whatnot. You’d have to buy me a new phone after, if I sacrificed this one to the art gods, but I know you’re good for it.”

[You can talk normally.]

Declan sent this text, since Jordan had retreated too far to read it from his screen. She checked the message and nodded. Then she spent a minute fiddling with her phone, humming along to the laptop’s next selection. She propped it up on the edge of her easel, far enough away from the canvas to not be in danger of getting splattered, with an air of triumph.

“Futzed with the settings,” she explained. “So it won’t time out and turn off as fast and I won’t have to keep trying to unlock it with messy fingers. If you say something and I don’t notice for too long, whistle or some shit.”

Declan watched as she picked up her abandoned brush, loaded it with paint, and set about her work without further ado. It took him a moment to recalibrate. He wasn’t certain exactly what reaction he’d expected, but an absence of questions, comments, or concerns apparently had not been it. Eventually, he shucked off his jacket and took up his usual position on the couch, angled just so to have the best view of Jordan herself and also a glimpse of her piece as it came together under her deft hand.

Normally, this was the part of the evening when Declan would talk. Well, he spent a lot of every day talking, but this was when he would actually say things. Things that mattered to him, stories he wanted to tell, jokes too inappropriate to make in a business setting, anecdotes no one else in his life would’ve cared to hear but Jordan always did. Now, he turned his phone over in his hand a few times before typing out, [Missed my exit. Some Masshole with a “choose kindness” bumper sticker cut me off in traffic, if you can believe that.]

Jordan’s phone buzzed with the incoming text. He watched as she finished a careful stroke of the brush before glancing down at the screen, still lit up. She snorted.

“Choose kindness? The irony’s killing me, mate. D’you think she takes selfies sipping $18 frappuccinos and captions them with Love Is Love and #positivity?”

[Almost certainly.] He added a peace sign emoji. It made Jordan laugh. [But Matthew was very nearly on time today, I’ll have you know.]

Jordan’s gasp was theatrical. “Really? He does learn!”

[Miracle of miracles. He didn’t even bitch when I said we didn’t have time to stop for McDonald’s. Truly, a day of firsts.]

Part of Declan thought that maybe Matthew had chosen to let it go on purpose—one of those rare moments of perceptiveness that were growing less rare with time, now that Matthew was making an effort toward, as he put it, “learning how to think better”. On the way to soccer practice had been when Declan’s mouth had started to betray him. He’d had to think “Matthew, put your seatbelt on” six times before he’d managed to actually communicate it audibly. The McDonald’s question had been met with a curt “no time for that”, forced out with far more effort than made any kind of sense for four very simple words that Declan said on a regular basis. By the time they’d reached the school, it had been a true struggle to muster up a goodbye, and once he had, he’d known there would be no more verbalizing tonight.

Matthew hadn’t seemed upset or like he thought Declan was mad at him, which was a relief because he wasn’t. There had been nothing wrong. Declan wasn’t even anxious about anything, beyond his general baseline. He’d thought plenty of perfectly amiable thoughts in Matthew’s direction on that trip. He’d told himself to say them instead, over and over. The rest of him just hadn’t cooperated.

He wondered now if, had he not been driving, Matthew would have minded him texting instead. Matthew wasn’t text-phobic like Ronan. He probably would’ve been over the moon about the opportunity to introduce emoji usage into their conversations, regardless of whatever malfunction of Declan’s speech capabilities had provided it.

Jordan certainly didn’t seem to mind. She chatted away the same way she always did, with only a slight delay when her eyes were too busy to spare. Text wasn’t a particularly expressive medium for conveying tone, but she knew him well enough to infer when he was being wry. She did send him an amused look for how long it took him to type out several paragraphs’ worth of commentary on the Henry Wallis wannabe from down the hall, but she put down her brush to read it all eagerly enough that he didn’t feel judged for it.

Despite the alteration to their routine, it felt just the same as it always did.

Declan wanted to tell her, I love you.

Instead, he texted, [You’re really not going to ask, are you?]

He’d been quiet—so to speak—for long enough that Jordan had to double-tap at her screen with the back of her cleanest knuckle to access the notification. She didn’t need clarification or context. She just wiped some carmine paint onto the thigh of her overalls and said, “Is it something that needs asking about?”

Declan turned that question over in his head. He would have asked, if he’d been in her position. He’d been asking himself for hours. Hell, he’d been asking himself for years, what this was and why it happened and why he couldn’t just spit it out when he got like this. He’d yet to find an answer or a solution.

But Jordan hadn’t needed one. All she’d needed was a way to keep hearing him.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He couldn’t say it right now, but he could wrap his arms around Jordan’s waist and press a kiss to her shoulder. She set down her brush in favor of reaching up to bury her fingers in his curls, cupping the back of his head to keep him close. She was undoubtedly getting paint in his hair. He decided that he didn’t care very much. They stayed like that for most of a song, swaying gently, Jordan humming along contentedly despite this particular track not being of a genre that easily lent itself to humming.

On the easel, Jordan’s phone screen dimmed, sleep mode impending. Declan picked it up before it could go fully dark. He typed in a text and held it up for Jordan to see.

[Thank you.]

Jordan wiggled around to face him properly, settling her arms around his neck and somehow managing to trap the phone between their chests. She kissed him, sweet and slow.

“Anytime, Pozzi,” she murmured against his lips. “Six of one, know what I mean?”

Declan thought, I’m starting to.

[sarcophagid]

hi im back with.an edgar valden character analysis also my wording may be a little bit weird dont ask about that

ok so edgar technically has two lores (??), the canon one and the original one (ill prob only write the pre-manor lore tho). in the canon one, he has a little sister called Ella, and she was like one of the only ppl he cared about, but she died cuz their father didn't take care of his sister (his mother too but yeah) (A Message Behind A Portrait, "When I was 6, mother left green behind in the carriage. When I was 8, my younger sister left white behind in the painting room" and A Farewell Letter "And young Ella, only six, forgotten by you on a sweltering afternoon. You were preoccupied with my "birthday celebration," neglecting the game you had promised her. Her tiny body curled in the painting room, her face pale as an asphyxiated fish, waiting for you to open the door until her last breath"). at some point, they got him a tutor/teacher (Mr. Sarai), and edgar thought that he like actually cared about him, but then he realized that he did not actually care about him (A Message Behind A Portrait, "Later on, Mr. Sarai was the only person who understood me, but sadly, he started revealing his true colors—he was a filthy liar."), so he killed him with a letter opener, and then used Sarai's blood to paint cuz..red is pretty (and gentle)

in the original lore, Ella was replaced with Maple Valden, who didn't die and was instead the one that delivered the manor letter to Edgar, and Edgar instead used the letter opener to basically cut himself to get blood for paintings

also it was implied that edgar was SA'd by Sarai in one of his deduction quests ("Coloring: Sometimes the first stroke will determine the colors of the entire painting. /Diary 1: I had a weird dream. Master was holding my hand to paint on a canvas...") , but it was never confirmed

amd things in the manor... he knew that patty was going to kill him, but didn't do anything abt it (A Page from Edgar Valden's Experiment File, "Subject 5-?-1's rationality comes from his obsession with art, but in the end, it was art that led to his fall by making him give up all resistance and willingly sacrifice himself." and Patty's letter Eerie words written on a piece of cloth, "May you be surrounded by rivers of blood and sing your swan song in repent."), he also bullied Jose (put the blame on him cuz Kevin left) with Vera until Jose cried/had a mental breakdown. kevin also thought he was rude to patty (i dont remember why) but in edgar's letter it was said that he remained calm in most of his interactions in the manor

how obvious is it that i really like edgar valden

ohh okay i see thank you for the explanation 🤔 i'll answer in list format for ease of reading TOT

i forgot that edgar was a community made character TOT its neat that he has an original lore page from the creator, i should check some of the other ones (iirc aesop was also one of these types of characters :?)

also edgars artistic motivation is still a bit unclear to me but i haven't dug too deep lmao. from what i've gathered it seems like he sees it as elevated above material things and this isolated him (further than normal, considering the dead sister), but i dont know what he finds positive 🤔 lmk if you have any thoughts on that

i'd argue that the deduction about the dream is most likely edgars awareness on sarai's pursuit of the family's wealth rather than an indication of assault. it's probably referring to the fact that sarai was using edgar's work for money rather than genuine artistic expression, which is why edgar felt like sarai was the one directing him and not allowing him creative freedom - hence 'holding his hand' to paint. it also doesn't look like there's any other references to an event like this, and the related deductions just detail sarai's materialistic connection to art as a product. i'm disinclined to jump the gun on assuming sexual violence in an unclear plot point when there's a more reasonable explanation without it.

i have to review some of the other files again but the manor game files are known to have inconsistencies - they're written by another character rather than being an unbiased retelling, despite the fancy format (it's hard to call someone objectively 'arrogant' or 'aggressive' lol, and there's 100% some sort of profiling going on a lot of the time). iirc kevin was protective of patricia because she was a woman (more to this but for brevity this is the simplest explanation they have in the letter) and because she was perceived by the others as a 'foreigner' (esp if you consider that most of the other players were white, and that the letters stated there were cultural/class divides between the players).

[officalroyalsofpierreland]

A Garden Party Introduction

Balmoral, Scottish Highlands, Scotland

Marie-Christine: Another, summer...another garden party Alexander: yup...last one before our break huh my love Hortense: Oliver...all of these people... Oliver: it is quite alright my love...we shall be making a b-line for my friends. They've been excited to meet you. Mama and Papa will be talking to guests

Hortense: So your friends have wanted to meet me? Oliver: Of course! I will admit [sheepishly] I have done nothing but talk of you when I bring up Francesim....you were the best part of my time there Hortense: Oliver David Alexander James, you flatter me Callen: Ah, there are the happy couple!

Oliver: Ah. Mo Gaol, you remember Lord Callen MacDonald. Callen: Your Imperial Highness, wonderful to see you again. Oliver: To his right is Lord Rhys MacPherson, one of my other friends since childhood Rhys: Your Imperial Highness.

Oliver: To his right is his twin sister, Lady Evie MacPherson Evie: Hello Your Imperial Highness! Oliver: And to her right, is Mr. Ahmad Chambers...though soon we shall soon call you Lord Ahmad my dear friend! Ahmad: Hello Your Imperial Highness. And Your Royal Highness, you flatter me sir. I'd only wish such a title on the basis of my hard work, not my dear mum's. Hortense: Hello everyone...very pleased to meet all of you!

Evie: It's an honor to meet you Ma'am really! Callen: Must we keep with the formalities? Oliver: Yes- Evie: Yes! His Royal Highness said we should ease Madame Hortense into the group...Francesim is a very different country Lord Callen...which you would know if you left the kingdom Callen: Oh here we go because- Evie: I did a study aboard semester in both Pierreland and Francesim...and they are both much more formal nations...not to mention the art!

Callen: Well...I've gotten Evie started...apologies Madame...Evie can talk about art and paintings till she's blue in the face...and not a lovely shade of blue might I add Ahmad: Really Callen...must you insult Evie's passion for the subject at every turn! Hortense: Actually...I love art! And please...I do not wish to change how your group operates...if you are less formal then please!

Ahmad: Thank you for being so gracious with us Madame. I apologize for Callen...he's a bit of a grouch when he has not slept well. His twin has been annoying him non stop recently- Callen: Hey! Ahmad: Anyway...if you would like Madame, Evie and I could show you around some of the art exhibits. It is not as glorious as the art of the Francesim palaces- Hortense: oh, I'd love that! I'm open to seeing all forms of art. Evie: Brilliant! We shall make plans then! Sorry Oli, we're going to steal your girl for a day!

Hortense: Will it be alright? For us to go to a public Museum? Oliver: Of course Mo Gaol...I will also make sure some nondescript security will be there, but it shall be safe. I promise. Hortense: Okay...then we shall go!

??? [in Scottish Gaelic]: Ahh Your Imperial Highness! It is such a pleasure to meet you! I'm Lady Thalia MacDonald. Hortense[confused]: I'm sorry? I'm afraid I do not speak..gaelic ???[scoffing under her breath in Gaelic]: What a surprise...the stuck up princess does not learn our native tongue and yet the prince expects her to be our queen.

Oliver: Lady Thalia...need I remind you that Her Imperial Highness has been mourning the loss of her beloved father. Did you expect her to learn such a difficult language as she said her good byes and adjusted to life without one of the fiercest protectors on the continent? Thalia: Oli, I just thought- Oliver: I am His Royal Highness, followed by Sir to you Lady Thalia. I demand you treat Madame Hortense and myself with respect. And you forget I speak our native tongue. Thalia: Forgive me Your Royal Highness...it is just I believed the Madam to be an intelligent Princess- Evie[muttering]: She did not just say that

Oliver[seething]: Lady Thalia. I will stop you right there. Her Imperial Highness is one of the smartest women I know...She will learn Gaelic with time. She is here as a guest of the King and Queen and when they hear of your rudeness, even your father will not be able to save you... Thalia [seething]: But Sir. Oliver: I demand an apology to Her Imperial Highness. Hortense: Mon Prince...do not make a scene please...

Oliver[to Hortense]: Mo Gaol...I shall not have you be disrespected like this...not by her [turning to Thalia, seething] Thalia. I command you to apologize to Madame Hortense...Now. Thalia[muttering]: My apologies Your Imperial Highness.... Oliver: I cannot hear you Lady Thalia. Thalia[louder]: My apologies Your Imperial Highness... Hortense[awkwardly]: Your apology is accepted... Oliver: Now leave Thalia. Or I shall summon security.

[karihigada]

sky is the limit

for CubScar Week on Tumblr @cubscarweek

day 3 - wings again pretty loosely

Read on AO3

a slow and peaceful morning in the hangar

also check out @kieiswrite's fic for more of this au!

Mornings were cold. But in a way, the cold helped them: They had to actually get up in order to stay active and warm up. A tent was spanned over their bedrolls as insulation and Cub had hooked up a small heater. There was no need to heat the whole hangar, after all. The plane was protected from the weather, and it didn't get cold enough that frost would attack the engine or freeze the fuel. 

So it was only the two of them, huddled close beneath two large blankets. Sometimes it was so tempting to Scar to just stay in bed a while longer, enjoying Cub's arms around him. But mornings were also exciting. All the possibilities the day brought, new breakthroughs, new milestones. All with Cub at his side. 

Scar was grinning to himself. He pressed a short kiss to Cub's lips before throwing the blanket off and clambering into the chill air of the hangar, Cub's voice behind him half heartedly complaining about letting the cold in. 

Scar slipped his feet into his boots, laced them up to protect his toes from the frigid stone floor, and threw his jacket around his shoulders. When he was done, he patted himself down self-satisfied, having successfully retained the night’s warmth. 

He dunked the kettle into the clean-water barrel, taking care not to get the cold water on himself. Behind him he heard Cub get up and wrestle the small heater out of the tent, put the cooking stove on top and hook it up to the other stove. Scar grabbed an armful of fire wood and dumped it into the stove, putting the kettle on top. His numb fingers lit the match with practiced ease.

After washing his hands in the dishwater barrel he scurried out of the small back door while Cub got the other stove going and the water boiling.

Outside the air was fresh and crisp. It immediately tried to weasel into the opening of his jacket, Scar’s breath fogging before his face. The sky was still dark and the grass underneath his boots moist with condensation. 

It was quiet. There were no trees on the field that could get in the way of the plane, that's why they chose this plateus as their base of operation to build the hangar in the first place. And in the past year they had definitely scared away any animals that could have made their nest in the ground.

Scar hummed under his breath as he jogged over to the cool box outside the building and got some bread, eggs and jam. The one advantage to the cold weather this time of year. In the summer groceries didn't last as long, and they needed to make more frequent trips. So in a way Scar preferred the slight isolation the cold season brought. It was just him and Cub and their dream.

He craddled the eggs carefully in the crook of his arm. He knew Cub wouldn't fault him for dropping something, but Scar really rather not be subjected to that particular look of amusement from his partner.

The day he would finally be able to get one up over Cub would certainly be the day.

Inside he handed Cub the eggs to fry over the stove top while he put the bread in the oven to toast. He checked on the boiling water. Not yet.

Cub was better with fragile things like eggs and flight calculations. Scar tended to burn the former if he didn't pay attention. Making coffee though, that he was good at. Cub always said he preferred Scar's coffee and that he just couldn’t make it the same way. Scar answered that it's because he always put his love into it, which made Cub laugh.

Scar got a couple plates and put them on the small table. The jam he also had made himself out of wild berries. Extra sweet in order to give energy for a long day. 

The kettle boiled and Scar got their mugs ready. His had an adorable gray and white cat on it, and Cub's what he imagined a rocket would look like, that Cub had painted himself. One day they would build one just like it.

Next to him Cub was sprinkling salt and seasoning onto the eggs. They smelled great, especially next to the emerging aroma of the coffee.

Cub carefully divided the eggs onto the plates while Scar spread jam on two pieces of warm bread. He was very tempted to take a bite immediately, but it was only proper to wait until they were both ready.

Cub put the used pan into the dish water barrel and sat down opposite of Scar.

Scar watched him take the mug into both hands and take an indulgent long sip, letting the coffee warm him from the inside. When Cub looked up, Scar realized he was grinning, if the look on Cub's face was any indication.

They ate slowly. Cub was thumbing through his notebook with one hand while Scar absentmindedly chewed on his food. The eggs were just as he liked them. His attention was captured by a lock of hair on Cub's head that was standing up in the wrong direction. It was cute. Like Cub had a wing on his head. Though thinking about it, that would look silly. And be impractical. He couldn't put his flight cap on. And not like a singular wing would be able to carry his weight.

Judging by Cub's expression when Scar arrived back in reality, he had probably been staring for a long time. His plate was empty.

Cub shook his head with a laugh. He took the dishes and put them in the dish barrel. Normally they did the dishes immediately, no use leaving small tasks unfulfilled, Cub always said. Scar curiously watched Cub refill their mugs and put them on the table before Scar.  Then he took a blanket out of their tent and made his way to the main door. "Do you want to watch the sun rise?" 

A wide grin spread on Scar's face. He took their mugs and followed Cub.

Their hangar was facing east. Back when they built it Cub had said with the positions of the nearby mountains this was the most optimal orientation to catch the wind for their soon to exist plane at lift off. Scar hadn't argued. It also had the added bonus that the rising sun streaming into the open hangar door, catching and shining onto the polished metal of their plane, looked absolutely amazing.

Though right now the sun wasn't quite there yet. Still lazily rising over the horizon, painting the sky beautiful hues of orange, pink and blue.

Cub spread one of the small tarps on the bare ground and sat down, getting comfortable and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He spread one arm open in an invitation to Scar. Scar happily clambered into Cub's embrace, careful not to spill their coffee. They sat shoulder to shoulder, Cub wrapping the blanket around them. When it was secure Scar handed Cub his mug.

It was nice. Fantastic, even.

They sipped their coffee as they watched the sun climb the sky and bathe their barren plateau in light. In the distance Scar could see the dam spring to life with the daylight, funneling the excess water that had accumulated in the night in order to generate the energy they would use for their machines and instruments. It really was a marvel of Cub's engineering and Scar never got tired of seeing it.

Underneath the blanket Scar blindly searched for Cub's hand. When he finally found it after tracing a path up from Cub's leg and down his arm, much to Cub's amusement, he laced their fingers together and laid his head on Cub's shoulder. 

This was nice. Warm. Today was going to be a good day, Scar was sure of it.

.

an au from september 2022 and since then has been slowly growing. what Kie @kieiswrite and I lovingly call aviation au. just two young wide-eyed dreamers out in the prairie of s4 to build their dreams of flight with their own hands. would be a shame if something happened to them. but not here. this is a peaceful morning some time after they got together.

possibly more of this au in the future. maybe what happens to them in the bottomless black sea of the end. possibly.

edit: check out @kieiswrite's fic to find out what happens to our young adventurers out in the end!

[cemeterysgirl]

ㅤㅤwith sen, she felt seen. like she could be unconditionally, and unapologetically, sasha. yet to see her actually kill, but always close in the wake of her wrath. a form of intimacy that brought them closer than even the rawest, realest sex could. " so fucking pathetic. have you no shame? " sasha's voice was a quiet taunt, a mocking whisper down the static from the poor connection. " do you want me to punish you, or what? " words were sharp, yet they were spoken with a smirk; pearly but crooked whites toying with her bloodied lower lip as she basked in the glory of her red mayhem. the ichor painting pale skin was dry, but the spot between her thighs was soaked — words of ravaging her going straight to her cunt. " coming already? you better fucking not be... " and with that, the phone was tossed onto the blood stained sheets. she knew he wouldn't be long. pathetically, and attractively, loyal. if sasha said jump, sen simply asked how high? every time they did something like this, something so sick and twisted, it turned her on in ways she'd never thought possible. she almost wished she'd been less meticulous with her slicing, wished that she'd left more of a mess for him to clean up — she enjoyed watching him obey. it'd only been minutes since they hung up, but it felt like hours — cold heart thudding slowly as she was left intensely alone with her tormentor-turned-victim. it was eerily quiet, and yet she felt like she was shouting; yelling in the face of what once was, when the door creaked open. she hadn't realised how tense she had been until his presence had her relaxing, muscles loosening once she was in his greedy, needy hold; stained, ample cleavage rising and falling with quick, heavy breaths. his praise had her smirk easing up into a smile, a sigh of relief slipping from parted petals as their lips nearly grazed and a shudder ran down her spine; stood wearing no more than her tight, short skirt and grisly violence. sasha didn't say anything, and instead just watched — observed as he so instantly turned to worshipping her, even amidst all the gruesome gore. like it was as natural to him as it was to her. sticky, coffin-shaped nails brushed through his hair, entangling him in her mess as he knelt before her; black, inky eyes twinkling with something foreign when she held his face in place, the hem of her skirt covering his nose as she blinks down at him — at her subject. choked moans sounded in the back of her throat as his tongue probed at supple, discoloured skin, ignoring his question and just letting him talk, letting him appreciate her in her truest form. sometimes it scared her how much he understood her, how no words had been needed for him to literally read the room and unlock parts of sasha no one else had ever even glimpsed. fingers tightened their hold in his hair, bare cunt drenched, clenching with anticipation as he spoke words that her soul had unknowingly longed to hear. where had he been all her life? the rawest part of her soul, the deepest, darkest side, and he unearthed it with ease; like she'd stripped herself bare for him. even when he prodded at her sorest, unhealed wounds, all she felt was arousal. the fingers in his hair yanked his head back, bending at the hip as she loomed over him — empty hand cupping at his jaw, thumb tugging his lower lip down with a hum, pushing carelessly into his mouth with a sick, smug grin. " i'll tell you his name after you've cleaned me up, and, if you're lucky, i'll tell you why. " she let go of his hair then, tugging black leather up past her waist; exposing bloodied inner thighs, painted red from straddling her prey, and her glistening cunt, with her swollen clit just tucked out of sight. " just— fuck, be a good boy and just stick out your tongue, sen. clean it. "

I should humiliate you right now. He couldn’t agree more. “I know. I’m a pathetic man, hard in public while you haven’t even said a word, how fucking embarrassing.” His voice is low, cracking with anticipation. “Mmmm I’m a pathetic dog for you, yeah?” He’d surrender to her any time, any day. There’s no line he wouldn’t cross, no shame he wouldn’t embrace with her : he's finally free. Stripping himself of morals, sanity, pride—it’s all he’s ever dreamed of. To be bare before her, drenched in blood and cum, broken down and rebuilt. She is his temple, the thing he worships beyond all reason. He is the artist and the romantic of the duo, the one who writes odes to her cruelty, poetry in blood and madness. He wants to be a temple for her too, a place to unleash her hells within, as deep inside of him as she can. The manic glint in his eyes sharpens as she teases him regarding the scene she’s left behind. “Easy to clean up? Good,” he says, with a pleased smile. “So I can lick you clean too… rip the skin from your bones with my mouth and tongue, God… I’m coming alright.” For them, that’s like a date night isn't it. Wrapping up the photoshoot is easy. As the head photographer, no one questions him when he calls it a day. The models, the crew—they bow to him, obey him, but they’re nothing to him. He doesn’t even register them as he rushes out. His car tears through the city streets as he speeds toward the dingy motel she’s at. The thrill—the one he’s been chasing his entire life—buzzes under his skin. He has no idea what she’s done or who she’s killed, and that’s what makes it perfect. When he arrives, he knocks once. The door creaks open, and she’s already there, pulling him in. The smell of blood hits him first—copper, iron, thick, warm, frrresh. He steps inside, and the room is a masterpiece of violence. Blood on the walls, the floor, soaking into the cheap carpet. Her victim is scattered, a macabre puzzle of limbs. He can tell this one is different than usual. She doesn't dismember them all, this one is special. His eyes are wide open in wonder. It's a treat. Yes, This wasn’t just a kill—it was pent-up rage, pain, hatred unleashed all at once. The body tells the story, every jagged cut, every gash, a testament to her wrath. And she, his goddess of torture, stands in the center of it all, radiant and terrifying. He’s on her in seconds, his hands gripping her waist like he’s starving for her. Forehead pressed to hers, their breath mingles, her body pressed to his. "You're fucking beautiful. Fuck you're beautiful." He smiles, his hands sink into her hair damp with blood. The crimson stains are onto his pristine white shirt now, his pants, his skin, too. He wants to be covered in her violence, immersed in it. “Who did you massacre like this?” he whispers, lips brushing hers but not quite meeting. He drops to his knees slowly, hands still clinging to her, sliding down her body. His lips trace a path along her neck, down her chest, until he’s at her thighs in that short skirt of hers. Worshipping. He buries his face there, inhaling her scent—her skin, the blood—until his head is spinning, intoxicated, eyes rolling like a maniac in a church. His tongue flicks out licking her thigh, pressed, wet and warm, overwhelming sensation and taste. Everything about her, about this moment, is perfect. “This man… he hurt you in ways that killing him wasn’t enough, I can tell,” he murmurs, reading the scene like it’s a script she’s written just for him, now looking up at her. Before he photographs it, before he touches anything, he wants to understand her head, the story behind the slaughter. “You want me to make him disappear... but not entirely, don’t you? You want 90% of his body gone, and 10% in a secret grave, buried somewhere no one will find, to disrespect his memory. A place for us… a place where we can fuck the soul out of each other every time you think of him.” He pauses, still down his knees, his mouth half opened against her thigh skin, his smirk slowly rising, his deranged eyes linked with hers. “Am I wrong baby?”

[noteguk]

hickeys | jjk | m | drabble

[ ! ] this is a “bad influence” drabble

— summary; Jungkook gets a bit jealous. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits, jealousy/possessiveness!!, kind of angry sex (it’s one-sided, jk is going through a Moment), unprotected sex, marking (hickeys, mentions of bruises), dirty talk, overstimulation, creampie, mentions of oral (f rec) and of cum eating, jk has a big dick, the oc being clueless but overall having a good time 

— words; 2,2k 

— author’s note; this was supposed to be shorter but, well, that’s the story of my life. A few people asked for a bit of jealous!jk so here I am to deliver it 😌 Inspired by this ask I got. 

~ 

Jungkook hated the wintertime. He hated the fact that you no longer used skirts because of the cold weather, hated that you had to go away for a few weeks because of winter break and, above all, hated those stupid turtlenecks you wore. 

Not because you didn’t look good in them — in fact, he had grown to appreciate them over the weeks, the way they made your breasts pop out and how your body felt so comfortable and warm against his — but because it became extremely easy for you to cover up the hickeys he gave you. Which completely missed the point of even having hickeys in the first place. 

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” You asked him, fingers pulling slightly on the messy strings of his dark hair. Jungkook was hovering above you in bed, his mouth glued to the skin of your neck, sucking on the flesh. He simply moaned in response, hoping that the roll of his hips against yours would make you shut up. Which obviously didn’t happen. “You better not be doing it.” 

Jungkook pulled away from your skin with a pop!, watching the blossoming red that appeared close to your jaw. It would be hard to cover up that one. “And what if I am?” He smirked, placing a kiss against your lips. His cock was deep inside you, and it was incredibly difficult to argue with him when he was fucking you so well. Not that it would stop you from trying. “What are you going to do about it?” 

You playfully hit him on the shoulder, the frown on your face only making him smile wider. “You’re such a jerk, I’m going to spend all the concealer I have left with this one,” you complained, and Jungkook hummed and leaned back towards your neck, resuming his devilish ministrations. Only one hickey wouldn’t be enough, Jungkook realized, he wanted you to go out to buy more makeup for that. “What’s the deal with you today?” You tried again.

Jungkook’s irritated groan vibrated throughout your skin, his hands tightening around your hips as a flame of anger sparked inside his chest. His deal was that you had cancelled on him at least three times last week to go out with some stupid guy named Jimin from your Wednesday afternoon class. He knew that he shouldn’t care about it — you two were obviously not exclusive, barely even a thing, and you didn’t seem to give a single fuck when he told you about one of the girls that he was going out with. And yet there he was: pissed off out of his mind because someone else might have interest in you, fucking you hard into the mattress because he wanted you to remember that no one could be as good as he was. 

There was also a second layer of indignation when it came to that subject: Jungkook was frustrated with himself because he was balls deep inside your pussy and he couldn’t even focus on it without thinking about your stupid date. It was the fourth week of the semester, he hadn’t seen you for the entirety of winter break, and it was the first time that he was fucking you in your bed (since your roommate was out in some idiotic spiritual retreat). He could actually have you for as long as he wanted, as loud as he wanted, not a single worry about being interrupted. And how was he using that time? Being jealous of a guy he barely even knew, just because he took you out for coffee or whatever. 

It really wasn’t his best moment.  

“Jungkook, that’s so good,” you cried out, sucking him out of his thoughts. Jungkook grunted at the desperate tone of your voice, his name sounding so perfect coming from your mouth, and he just wanted to hear more of it. His cock was slipping in and out of you with ease, your wetness dripping down his length, and he forced himself to pay attention to you for the rest of the night. “I’m getting close.” 

“Yeah?” Jungkook groaned and pressed his forehead against yours — he could tell that already from the way you were tightening so perfectly around him, hugging his cock like you were meant to take it. “You like when I fuck your pussy like this, baby?” 

“Y-Yeah, I love it.” You closed your eyes, back arching off the bed as he continued to drill his fat cock in and out of you. No matter how many times he gave it to you, you couldn’t get used to the incredible pressure of his girth against your walls, filling you up so perfectly. “Feels so good…” 

“Is this all for me baby?” Jungkook finished his sentence with a particularly hard slam of his hips against yours — you didn’t even need to ask him to fuck you rougher, he already knew that was what you wanted. His eyes were a deep dark storm, glued to your parted lips as you moaned out for him, your perfect little cunt pulsating around him. Jungkook could only think about how wonderful you felt, how he couldn’t find someone better even if he tried. “Is this pussy mine? Was it made for me?”

Jungkook was fucking you so well that you could not help but nod, a pathetic whimper tearing itself from your throat as your hands fumbled to hold onto the nape of his neck. Your nails scratched his skin, the sensation making him groan. 

“Yeah, it’s yours.” You said it because you knew that it was all pretend, all his weird possessiveness that he only showed when he was hitting that deep inside you. Jungkook also knew that it was bullshit — but he allowed himself to dive into that fantasy as he felt himself throb inside you. “Fuck, Jungkook, I’m really close.” 

But he didn’t relent. Jungkook shoved his head on the curve of your neck, grunting as he quickened his pace in and out of you. He could feel your thighs trembling, your pussy fluttering around him, and yet it didn’t feel like it was enough. “Say it again,” he roared, hands digging to the flesh of your hips. It would leave a mark, both of you were aware of that, and yet there was a shared sense of wonder when you saw the purple bruises that he would leave behind. “Say that it’s mine.” 

“This pussy is yours, Jungkook,” you whined, head pressed hard against the soft pillows. At that point, you’d say and do anything he asked you to. “O-Only yours.” 

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice hoarse and deep as sin. Jungkook was drilling into you like a madman, hoping that the ache between your legs would be enough to remind you of him, of what he could do to you. He wanted you to keep that in the back of your head next time you had to pick between him and some other dude who wouldn’t know how to treat you. “All mine, this is all mine. Made for me.” 

He quickly got lost in his own praises, mind whitening out at the pleasure that monopolized his body. When you came around him, just as perfectly as you had many times before, Jungkook felt a wave of pride washing over him. It pierced its sharp teeth in his flesh, sucked him out of his worries — suddenly he didn’t give a shit about Jimin from your Wednesday class, because he knew that no amount of stupid coffee dates would ever equate to the way he had you. It was just a matter of time before you realized that as well. 

He felt you shivering beneath him, the way you always did when your pleasure was starting to become a bit too much. Jungkook leaned back so he could see your face, that blushy mess that got him sinking deeper inside you, the thin veil of tears that swam over your unfocused eyes. He would bet real money that Jimin from Wednesday class wouldn’t get you like that in a million years. Not that he was jealous or anything. It was just a fact. 

“J-Jungkook, that’s too much,” you whined. 

And he knew that it was, but he also wanted you to feel it all, and wanted you to cum around him as many times as you could. After all, you finally had some alone time, so he was definitely going to make good use of it. 

“Take it for me, baby,” he asked breathlessly, the rising pitch of his voice signaling that he was close too. Jungkook could feel his own orgasm growing closer, building up at the base of his spine and tugging at his balls, threatening to overflow. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” 

You bit your lip, fighting against a sob as he continued his frantic movements. You wanted to be good for him, wanted to fight through that sensitivity for him. But sometimes it was hard to focus, and the space between the pain and the pleasure could be a bit too long sometimes. “A-Are you close?” You asked. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” he spat. Jungkook’s eyes zeroed in on your own, watching as a coat of desperation painted your features. “What’s the matter, baby? You don’t wanna get eaten out after I’m done here?” 

“God, Jungkook,” you said. If you weren’t so lost in the afterglow of your orgasm, you’d probably argue with him further, perhaps try and ask for the millionth time what had possessed him. But you seriously couldn’t be bothered with any more arguments and your brain wasn’t fully functional yet, so you settled for a quick and objective, “Are you trying to kill me?” 

Jungkook chuckled, lowering himself so he could place a kiss against your lips. “I'm trying to make you feel good. Let me eat my cum out of you, baby,” he teased, feeling as your walls pulsated around him at the idea. The fact that he hadn’t cum yet was a miracle on its own, because he had been about to tip over for a while now. “Unless you want to keep it inside you.” 

The interesting part was that Jungkook didn’t fully understand his second option until it had spilled from his lips. Now that it had been spoken out loud, manifested into the universe if you will, it made his cock throb with the mental imagery of you walking around stuffed with his cum, making other guys think they had a chance when you were already his. He’d seriously have to try that sometime. 

Before he could stop himself, his hooded eyes centralized on the hickeys he had embellished your neck with, and his marking was enough to make him spill himself inside you, painting your walls with waves of his warm cum. Jungkook called out what sounded like a broken version of your name, throwing his head back and listening to the wonderful whimpers you were producing for him. Just for him. 

At that point, both of you were considering buying your roommate something as a way to thank her for her wonderful idea of a spiritual retreat. 

Jungkook breathed out hard and removed his cock from your pussy, watching as the white liquid dripped between your glistening folds, accumulating on the sheets. If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d probably have yelled at him for ruining your mattress. 

“Have you made up your mind?” He asked, flickering his gaze up at you. You were such a pretty mess, and he lived for the fact that it was all because of him. “Wanna keep it in or want me to eat it out?” 

Honestly, he realized there was no wrong choice and, yet, he wanted to know what you would pick. 

You bit your lip and, after a moment of hesitation, you answered. “Eat it out,” you said. 

Jungkook smirked, lowering his head between your legs. “Good girl.” 

~ 

Jungkook saw you wearing a scarf the next day and he wanted to smack himself across the face for not considering that possibility. It hid all his efforts to mark you, didn’t make you nervous talking to other people. He could see from the faint coat of sweat on your face that you were feeling hot, but he also saw you smirking at him enough times to know that you were planning to endure that for as long as necessary. He was stupid to believe he’d actually get what he wanted for once: it had been too easy. 

He really fucking hated the wintertime. 

~ 

Check out the rest of the bad influence collection! 

Taglist: @youurkryptonite @taehyungieskith​ @fan-ati–c​ @btstrasht​ @crazy4myself​ @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

[legendaryoikawa]

haikyuu boys in your typical romance cliche 

warnings: mention of alcohol and language

note: female reader insert

oikawa tooru — as the typical popular frat boy that you happen to stumble into because you were so damn wasted of alcohol or vodka. you happen to be invited in the biggest frat party ever and you didn’t know whether you should be thankful or ashamed that you gained freedom and liveliness for a short period of time or squashing your face on the chest of the gorgeous oikawa tooru? perhaps the latter. oikawa know you because you were one of those university girl that never gave a damn about him and in instant he grew fond and interested with you. he actually finds it cute to see you all puffy and red because of alcohol but other than that he isn’t gonna let you go this time, never, especially in this state of yours. he’s that typical cliche where he’ll pull your hair up while you throw out in the bathroom while caressing your back gently and wiping off your temples with his handkerchief. 

akaashi keiji — is the classmate that is really intimidating yet hot at the same time? you think you were quite lucky that you were assigned to seat beside him but the moment you gathered your things to move beside him, you can almost feel the weight of the piercing gaze of your classmates. anyways, you got assigned in a school project with him and he offers you his place since the school is bound to close at six and your place is not that appealing much either. so you both walked to his house and you can see the little things he does for you like pressing his body closer to your side when a creepy guy walks across or the ghost of his touch from your back when you both crossed the pedestrian or the way his hands slightly raises your bag cause he knows it’s heavy judging by your slouching. and when the young night passes away, he starts talking about his life and you too, until one moment he confesses that he really admires you, so much.

yamaguchi tadashi — you know yamaguchi and you’re good friends with him since you both live in the quiet neighborhood of sendai. you really love his freckles and usually compare them to constellations that makes him go flustered with his flyaway hair sticking up. he likes you but he’s just so meek and decides to never voice out his feelings. so yamaguchi is part of the photography club and is assigned to take a picture of a subject that is dear to them. and when he walked in the corridors all he could think off was just you. and so he did. you asked him while laughing, as to why he keeps on taking your pictures when you’re not a celebrity yourself, jokingly. but his answer left you off guard especially when he said, “my adviser told me to capture something so beautiful and i think it’s you.”

kageyama tobio  — he’s that boy that no matter how much he wanted to go home and rest, he’ll always wait for you patiently at your lockers despite you asking him to head first because you still have committee work after school. then one moment after the adviser has finished the meeting, you’re shocked to see him leaning against your locker while drinking in from his milk. the moonlight is already shining through the window panels; making his skin glimmer marvelously. you’ll just stare at him dubiously; not knowing what to say. and you feel yourself falling down crazily for him; heart’s erratic. because he waited for two hours at the lockers just to walk you home, even though you told him not to. and you know he’s impatient as fuck but there he is, waiting and snatching you bag away from you. he’ll give you a stare and flickers your forehead while saying, ‘idiot, you think I’ll let you walk home, alone?’ and you’ll just pull his blazer down to capture his lips and he’ll blush so hard lmaoo

kuroo tetsurou  — that transferee student everyone is talking about. with his dark hair, tall frame, and noted muscles— every girl is crazy about him. he is assigned to seat behind you; at the back by the window. and everything just spiralled down to complete euphoria, even you didn’t see it coming. he doesn’t talk much to your classmates. often dismissing a budding interaction from some girls. and it took you by surprise when he asked you for a pen because he left his pencil case in his friend (you heard him tell you his friend’s name, kenma it is?) and it just happen so quickly. everyday he’ll leave you sticky notes in your table with his messy handwriting saying how beautiful you are than the sun, or go out with me? with a little smile on the side. sometimes, you can feel him playing with your hair or reaching out to hold your hand underneath the table while the teacher is writing on the blackboard. 

hinata shoyo  — hinata will be that cliche where he will buy a cupcake because he could remember that it is one of your favorites. often running to your place because he missed the bus and will arrive at your place; his hair all messy and fluffy, panting, with his skin slightly flushed and glimmering with perspiration. or will let you cry on his shirt and won’t mind you soiling it despite the shirt being all new and crispy. he couldn’t bring himself to care to be honest, because his only concern is to make you feel better despite having his shirt all wrinkled and damp from your tears. 

bokuto kotaru  — is that typical boyfriend that would literally walk you down to your room despite his room being two buildings away from yours. he’s that dedicated. that every vacant period, he’ll fetch you off and lead you down to his department’s botanical garden. or will eat lunch with you in your room. or spending together in the library. he’s as fresh as lilies. young as the night. no matter how hard you cajole that you can walk yourself and he shouldn’t bother, he wouldn’t allow you. and will always carry your bag for you even though you can manage to carry it for yourself. he is also that kind of cliche where he’ll ask his professor is he needs something from your building and volunteers to get it for them just to visit you in you room. excusing you from your class and won’t say anything but just steal a peck from you a make a dash towards the faculty room with a proud smirk painting his face cause he rendered you speechless and flustered, again.

tsukishima kei  — is that typical cold guy in campus that everyone is lowkey scared of. you were asked by your biology teacher to borrow the books for the class’s current lesson from the library on the spot you took a beeline for the shelves as fast as you could. but for fuck’s sake all the books were placed at the topmost part of the science shelves. you stood there for a good minute while glaring at the books overhead. you know you were damned for good since there are no chairs nearby that are available and the librarian is nowhere to be seen. you stomped you feet in annoyance until you felt a looming presence behind you. a tall one. and the person smells of fresh vanillas as well. when you turned around, you saw tsukishima grabbing the books at ease and handing it to you and stalked away. you thanked him quietly but it was enough for kei to hear and he wasn’t wrong when he thinks you we’re cute while struggling to get those books on top of you. 

iwaizumi hajime  — that boy you hated to the core. you didn’t know why but he just goes right after your nerve. pressing of your buttons. iwaizumi is the bugbear of your life. yet for him, you’re the fucking cutest person he ever met in his life. and he doesn’t know why you’re so annoyed with his whole existence. but one time, he decided to play it off and decided to push your buttons more. there’s a debate in your class and he stood up to contradict your claims. and basically everyone could feel the sexual tension arising in the air, yet they didn’t utter a word. iwaizumi thinks you’re so hot when your mad and whenever you put an emphasis to him name. or the cliche where he yanked your arm when you’re about to leave the room just to playfully lean in your face, while whispering, ‘you’re so difficult, yet you’re making me want you more’ e2l, pls.

kozume kenma  — kenma is that typical boy that doesn’t allow people to play his console or his psp because it is something dear and precious to him. not even kuroo. no matter how his teammates beg to ask him for just one game, he’ll never allow except for you ;) to the point you don’t have to ask him, sometimes he’ll be the one to offer and let you play the recent game he just purchased lol

— part two will be posted soon! hope you guys like this,, i just started this yesterday with my love, @fratboyjae while we were casually throwing out cute blurbs to each other LOL HAHA. requests are currently open, send them in! love lots!

[angelkurenai]

Oh baby dear - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Oh baby dear

Pairing: Chris Evans x Surrogate!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After a trip that gives the chance to Chris to take a long-overdue break from his job, he comes back home with his mind made up to change his life. And even if it weren’t for the trip itself or meeting you, even though he had no idea if he’d ever see you again, he was determined to not wait any longer. Feeling ready to become a father he starts looking for a surrogate mother, only to end up finding you of all people.

“Son of a guy. You meant it.” brown eyes were wide, and for the first couple seconds no other sound could be heard in the room. It almost felt like the words could echo in the room.

“You're really doing this.” the man's voice was filled with just as much shock as was painted all over his face. At least the woman behind him was more calm, sipping on her drink with an ease that would have been troubling, especially in such a case, if it wasn't known that she had long ago heard the news.

“I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if I wasn't seriously considering it.” the other man in the room couldn't take his eyes off his friend, trying to gauge his reaction the second it came through. It was bound to be the most honest one, no second thoughts, and he only needed his friends' honest thoughts. Not that, and he was sure of it, the other man would intentionally tell him anything but the truth.

“You- wow.” the shocked expression was still there but there was no mistaking the smile that was slowly but surely appearing on his face “Seems like Evans is finally joining the club, who'd have thought? That's what I call one heck of a year, quickly Scarlett note the date down! It's going to go down in the history books, I tell you. Oh you're in for one hell of a ride, buddy! Wait you knew about this, didn't you?” he turned to the woman but shook his head soon enough “Never mind. You're gonna have to look for a godmother but I do get to be the godfather, right? I really need to start making preparations, nine months are not even remotely enough. I gotta-”

“Take a deep breath and calm down, Robert. That's what you gotta do. Otherwise this kid won't get to meet its one-of-a-kind godfather. And we would never want that to happen, would we?” the woman interrupted his rambling, a teasing smile on her own lips as she noticed Chris himself chuckle.

“Oh goodness forbid that could ever happen.” Chris laughed some more, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past couple days “And besides that, there has not been a surrogate found just yet. Papers got approved only a day ago, it will take more time than that.”

“You say that as if the second every woman finds out you're on that kind of market, won't volunteer to have your baby. Heck, I know most of them would gladly volunteer to do it the old-fashioned way! You'll see, you will be getting news very soon.” Robert brushed his friend off and got up from his seat, making his way to the mini bar to grab a drink for himself “Which means, I really gotta start preparing everything because a) this is Evans' kid and b) I'm the godfather and it'll get only the best!”

Scarlett couldn't help but laugh, while Chris shook his head with a chuckle, before she added “As you can see, he is going to be more trouble than the kid.” she ignored the look that was shot at her from Robert and kept going “But, speaking of it, I never asked: Did you never really consider adoption?”

“For most of the time that's what I had in mind, yes, but-” he sighed, easing back in his seat “I asked about it and my chances were sadly very low, given my job and everything, not to mention how lengthy of a process it all was. Sebastian was actually the one to suggest it and you know I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. Granted, it is just as hard to find a surrogate who is also willing to be the biological mother but I feel like I have more to hope for this way.”

“You have every reason to be hopeful, I'm sure this will work out just fine. Besides-” she offered her friend a warm smile “There is no other man that I can think of that could be a better father than you. This child will be very lucky.”

“...The part of Robert being the godfather excluded?” Chris added with a smirk, eyeing his friend who narrowed his eyes at him, before both Chris and Scarlett burst into laughter.

“Life isn't perfect, what can you do?” she grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

“I'll try to be the better man, as always, and not comment on any spiteful comments against me. You're just jealous I am going to be the world's best godfather. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to comment on.” he plopped back on his seat and gave the blue-eyed man a sly smile “Sebastian you say but I'm wondering: was it him or that summer trip to Italy that really prompted you to become a dad? Maybe a certain someone you met there? What was her name...”

“Don't-” it was all he had time to get out, his eyes wide and voice very warning; but there was never any stopping the man when he wanted to speak his mind.

“Ah yes.” Robert grinned widely “(Y/n).”

“What- Who?” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head to the side “How come I haven't heard of her before? I thought you told me everything about Italy.”

“She's nobod-”

“Probably the love of his life. Something like his soulmate. One he talks about a lot in his sleep, hence why I should hold more parties and have you guys over. The info I get is golden. Anyway, think of it as the star-crossed lovers but one where he isn't the Lana Del Rey young and beautiful, you know? Heard she's something like a med or psych graduate or something. So come to think of it all, Italy, soulmates and age difference, this is like another version of Call me by your-”

“And that's it for you. Enough words spoken for one day.” Scarlett said, not hesitating a second to place a hand over the man's mouth who admittedly didn't give up even if his words were only an incoherent mumble after that.

Chris' eyes were wide and there was no mistaking the way he wanted to not talk about it, as if there was some unparalleled sadness that came with the mention of your name, a deep ache and at the same time yearning perhaps because he missed you, just like there was no mistaking the tint of pink that was on his cheeks.

“That's-” he cleared his throat, avoiding looking at his friends in the eyes because he knew how easy it would be to tell that even so many months later the feelings were fresh as much as the day he had to leave, the day he left a part of himself on the airport with you – a part he knew real well he wouldn't get back again, certainly not from any other woman he got to meet. That missing part of him, even if the rest held all the beautiful memories dearly to itself and felt truly blessed, he knew was obvious. It was all on his face that he was missing something, even if he'd gotten so much. And he knew she would see it, it all became so obvious when he thought of you.

He shook his head when he realized he had taken longer than needed to reply “It was way too long ago, I can hardly remember it now. Hell, as if barely anything happened to begin with. She was just-” a lump in his throat, too painful “I made a good friend, a really good friend yes, who helped me see my life in a different way. Helped me make my choice and see the things that really matter. Couldn't keep in contact and yes that's a bit sad but- That's all there is to it, nothing more nothing less.”

Scarlett regarded him for a couple seconds, even as he tried to keep himself busy with getting another drink, before she finally spoke “If you say so.” she nodded her head “At least we now know who we owe this to and who to thank for our family growing, don't we?”

“Then-” Robert's smile was softer, yet also sad, as he raised his glass a bit “Let's drink to that, if not your baby just yet. To (Y/n)?”

“To (Y/n).” Scarlett nodded her head “For helping you make the best decision of your life, wherever she may be now.”

Chris hesitated, the unspoken truth of you not only being the one to help him make the decision but also be part of that decision, part of the family he wanted to build, was ready to break free from his lips but he held it back “Wherever she may be.” he said in a low hoarse voice, raising his glass as well “To (Y/n).”

He had not allowed himself to say your name in a long time and thinking back to it, the effect had been evident not only in his chest, in his heartbeat, but also in his lips, how painfully strange it felt when all he had been doing was think about it for months to no end, down to his throat that closed up with emotion. And he had allowed himself to say it not only so that he would make sure his friends would drop the subject but also because it had been a long time, he felt the need to and he knew that he wouldn't get the chance to do so, not anytime soon for sure.

And yet, only seconds ago, the name had left his lips for the second time in barely a couple days.

His brain could barely keep up with the fact, all the information he had to currently process seemed to make things even harder. Saying your name this time certainly had the same effect, his throat closed up and his heart leaped to his throat, but it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. He blinked several times, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was also true, to make sure that it wasn't wishful thinking and that him holding his breath had not reduced the levels of oxygen to a point where he couldn't even see straight. Truth be told, he felt pretty lightheaded.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” he repeated your name for the third time, the third time in only a couple days his mind nearly screamed at him, but it didn't feel the same this time.

“Yes, I would say she seems like one of the most, if not the most, suitable candidate for you case.” the woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile but his brain was still currently stuck on the word 'candidate'.

“I'm sorry. There seems to be some misunderstanding here and I- I don't know whose part it is on, but-” he licked his lips, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat “When you say- What you're trying to say- I'm sorry.” he shook his head and let a couple seconds to pass in silence; he knew she wouldn't ask before him.

Taking a deep breath he decided to speak, even if his voice was hoarse he hoped she could make out the words “Candidate for what?”

The woman frowned a bit but it was gone faster than it could register, as she spoke in a calm voice “Your case. To be not only the surrogate you are looking for. See, her current, and according to her permanent from now on, residence is in New York City and very close to the residence you have listed as your permanent one. It is important, you understand, if we take into consideration that she will be the biological mother of the child. You might want the child to be able to stay in touch with her, and vice versa, so the close proximity does help. Of course that is always up to you, but in most cases we've seen it hap-”

“When did she sign up for this?” he asked, barely able to keep himself to wait for her to finish her sentence.

“Pardon?” she blinked and only then he realized how he might have sounded.

“You're right. I apologize, that came out as wrong.” he cleared his throat again “What I mean is... does she know who I am? That she- she's signing up to be a surrogate for my child.”

“Every surrogate must be informed, of course, of you as you are informed of her. She too must know whose child she will carry, don't you think it's fitting? But if you are uhm-” she hesitated “Concerned about other children, then, you need not worry. It's not my place to say this but it seems like-” she smiled a bit, almost knowingly “That you have already chosen, so I believe it wouldn't really be against any rule to say this. Consider it an extra bit of information.”

'Seems like you have already chosen.' would be a vast understatement. It was like every cell in his body was screaming 'Yes', chanting it over and over again that he was seriously worried he might have projected it somehow. He could barely control the words that came out of his lips anyway. If anything, the second he had come across the file with your name he had been glued to it, his eyes and all of his attention orbiting around the single file as if he was Earth and you were his Sun. Not far from the truth either.

But it also must have shown- No scratch that. He was sure it had shown because he had done no effort to hide it, too stunned and happy and eager and giddy and blessed and so many other things, to try to hide it. And she had clearly noticed.

“So, no, she has not mothered another child. As a matter of fact, Miss (Y/l/n) is doing this for the first time.” the woman leaned back in her chair “She came to us with the belief that there was too much sadness out there and, amongst other things, she decided to do this little one thing to help someone out. To make someone happy. I believe she didn't really have any further expectations out of this, no further plans, other than wanting to do some good. We only informed her of your case and she said she'd like to help, nothing else.” she shrugged softly “For any further reasons behind her choice you could ask her, I suppose. If you do think she could be the right choice to be the mother of your child, then-”

“She is.” he said, maybe a little too fast, but he didn't care. He didn't find a single part of him that cared for how eager he looked at the prospect of you being the mother of his child. Granted, it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it but it was so much more than he ever thought he'd get, of what he thought he deserved, when he had told you goodbye that summer.

He cleared his throat again, trying to straighten his back and look as formal as he should in the suit he was wearing. He offered her a small smile “She is the right one. I think I've decided. I-” he paused, glancing at the pile of files and therefore other candidates which he had absolutely not even taken a glimpse at and he hoped she wouldn't comment on it “I've thought things through, yes.” because no man could make such a decision so hastily, he knew, and yet he looked like he just had “I'm glad for all the candidates it means a lot but uhm Miss (Y/l/n) seems to be indeed the right one. I think she will do just fine yes.”

“Wonderful.” she smiled more, nodding her head “If it means anything, she seemed happy when she was presented with your case.” oh if only she knew just how much it really meant to him, ask his wildly-beating heart and everyone would know just how much “Now, you understand that while you seem pretty sure and confident with your choice, you will have to give it some more time, more than anything to get in touch with the surrogate herself and discuss through any specific terms you might have. We will be the ones to set a meeting. Of course there are legal issues that need to be taken care of, but you're a lawyer yourself so you probably know that better than anybody else already.”

“Y-yes uh of course, yes, legal terms. Mr Wilson will represent me on the matter of course. But you said-” he folded his hands over his lap and threaded his fingers and it was either that or let his nerves show “Meeting her? Will I get to meet her in person soon or...?”

“That, Mr Evans, is completely up to you, how ready and sure you are, how much time you need and how fast you want things to progress.” she said as if she'd had this conversation many times over and she probably had “It could be within a week, a month, or, if you have no doubts, within three days the soonest possible. So, do you need time to think over-”

“The soonest possible. I'd like-” he nodded his head, straightening his suit's jacket “I think it would be best if I could meet with her the soonest possible. She's just what I was looking for.”

[certifiedskywalker]

At Long Last Love has Arrived - Bucky Barnes

Loving Bucky has its moments; soft, tender moments that always seem to happen after he gets a good nights rest.

AN: Just a little drabble based off of this sweet lil diddy

Days when you woke up before Bucky were few and far between. On one hand you could count how many times you had stirred and stolen glances at your still-sleeping bedmate. Even if you did manage to wake without alerting him, Bucky would rouse mere minutes after with smug smile etched on his full lips as he caught you staring. On those rare occasions when you woke up before Bucky and he stayed asleep, you held tight to each second.

Though, this morning, you were clinging to the quiet peace on his face like a lifeline.

In the morning light that shifted through the blinds, Bucky looked as if he were the subject of a Romantic’s painting. His thick brows were relaxed, not tucked into their usual furrow that carved creases in his forehead. No nightmares, no terrors; he was sleeping soundly. 

Pink lips parted ever so slightly, in time with the steady rise and fall of his broad chest. Bucky was your breathing tide, his arms the current that held you close. Though, this morning, his arm, singular, was curled to his chest. He refused to sleep with the vibranium one on anymore. When you asked him why, he shrugged.

“Feel safe with you,” he said, “no need for it.”

You felt safe too, with Bucky. Everytime you tried to tell him so, he nodded through a frown. He had given you the speech before. The one about the access code to his brain, the series of phrases that trigger his transformation into, as he said, a monster. You had only seen it once before on video. Old security footage from Zemo’s first plot.

You insisted that you didn’t care, that the risks meant nothing when he was the reward. It was the only time you had seen Bucky cry. His face screwed up into a strained grimace and his eyes became rimmed red with tears he had been fighting. It was a sight that pained you.

It was a sight so different from the one before you now. Both of you, years after that speech, after Zemo, safe with each other. The change didn’t feel real. Almost too good to be true. It made you nervous. Not nearly as nervous as you had been cutting Bucky’s hair.

Shorn short now, the chestnut strands stuck out every which way against his pillow. Sharon cleaned up your work after Sam cracked one-too-many jokes about a ‘bowl-cut lookin’ job’. You were still getting used to the new look and his new, but still adorable, bedhead. It made him look softer.

So soft that you were tempted to reach out and touch-

“You’re staring.” 

You smiled at the low roughness of his voice. “Really?”

“Yes,” he drawled, his eyes still closed. “It’s really embarrassing for you.” 

Slowly, like the breaking dawn, Bucky opened his eyes. His lashes lifted from his cheeks and revealed the blue beneath his eyelids. A lazy half smile spread along his lips when he met your gaze. In a sleep-ridden, groggy motion, he shifted to lay on his armless side.

“Mornin’,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Good morning,” you beamed back. You reached out and brushed your finger through the locks of hair that were pressed against his forehead. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good, actually. You?”

You shrugged in reply and Bucky squinted at you curiously. 

“Everything alright? You feel okay or-”

“I’m fine,” you cooed, brushing your fingers through his hair once more. “It just feels like it’s harder to get to sleep. I’m...I’m waiting for it.”

“Waiting for what?” He asked, concern lacing in his tone.

“The punch to the gut. The big bad that ruins this,” you gestured to the space around and between you. “this is too good to be true, right?”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, his hand reaching towards your face. His fingertips, warm against the skin of your temple, brushed back a few stray strands of hair. His touch eased the thoughts that swirled about your head. You leaned into hand and held his gaze. Blue eyes, with pupils slightly blown wide, scanned over your face.

“As someone who's taken a lot of gut punches, I can tell you that they’re not worth waiting for.” Gentle hints of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “But, yeah. You’re right. This is good but it’s true, it’s real.”

“It is,” you replied, taking his hand and pulling it down from your hair to your lips. You pressed a feather-light kiss to Bucky’s knuckles. The feeling was enough to shove a shudder in his breath and bring a smile to your lips. Hooded eyes lifted but did not meet your gaze. Despite the new lightness in your chest, Bucky wore a fresh frown.

“I never thought I could have this,” Bucky admitted, his blue eyes holding your gaze. “Thought I would die before I even got close, got love.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and, to combat the ache his words bloomed in your heart, you leaned in. Gently, your lips brushed against Bucky’s, a silent ask for permission. Wordlessly, he closed the gap and captured you in a kiss. His hand slipped from yours and gripped your chin, holding you in place against his lips. Slowly, you pulled away, letting Bucky try to hold you in place by briefly biting your bottom lip between your teeth. The feeling sent a shock of giddiness through you, accompanied by a slipping giggle.

“You’re in love with me?” As you spoke, Bucky’s eyes opened dreamily slow. “How embarrassing for you.”

You expected an equally teasing retort or a swift lunge that pinned you to the bed, a promise of pleasure to fill the silence. Instead, Bucky only stared at you through his lidded eyes. Warmth rushed to your face fast; the feeling surprised you. While Bucky never failed to make you weak, he hadn’t made you blush like a lovestruck school child in ages. Under the sweet intensity of his eyes, you could feel the heated blood brush against your skin in a fervor.

“Buck,” you whispered shyly, tearing your eyes from his. When you looked back up, he was still focused on you, his face, still relaxed, was serious, nearly unreadable.

“I love you,” he swallowed and added, deeper, almost sadder, “I need you.”

There was a tremble in his voice that shook your core. It drew you in, forced you to scoot closer to him and hold his face in your hands. Rough and scratchy, the scruff along his jaw nipped at the skin of your palms. You could have cared less. You pulled him in, melded your lips to his until you worked as one. Until touching Bucky felt like touching the sky, some ethereal thing that belonged to no one but the two of you alone.

You wanted to, needed to keep touching, kissing him but the need for air overruled you. With a small gasp, you broke apart. As you caught your breath, Bucky leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. His nose brushed against your own, a tender nudge reminding you that he was there. Reminding you that you were safe.

“I love you too,” you said in a breath, “I need you too.”

You rested back, just far enough away to look into Bucky’s eyes but still feel the warmth of his body near yours. With your hands still cupping his cheeks, you pulled Bucky Barnes in for one more kiss, one more desperate than the last. Tucked into his chest, his lips, you closed your eyes. At long last, love had arrived; you weren’t about to let him go anytime soon.

[bookofmirth]

on Elain

Elain has strengths in canon. Strengths that we can and should talk about, if the fandom is serious about valuing her “traditionally feminine” traits. She is not all of these things all of the time, but these strengths are important. They are also strengths that are typically overlooked, often because women (at least white, cishet women) are assumed to encompass these strengths. 

The point of this post is to look at who Elain actually is, what character and personality traits she possesses, rather than work on overblown, exaggerated assumptions because we either love or hate her.

Her positive traits are:

Optimism - no matter what situation she is put in, Elain thinks about how she can make the best of it. Feyre said that this is its own kind of strength. She saw the best in their tiny cabin while they were starving, she saw the best in their newfound riches and refused to hold it against others that they had been shunned while poor, and she now is trying to make the best of her place in the Night Court.

Resilience - after everything that Elain has gone through, she has had ONE (1) example of a time when she completely overloaded and literally could not deal (the beginning of acowar). She has dealt with being Made, the death of her father, losing her fiancé and being treated horribly by him, Feyre being kidnapped and watching Nesta being Made, being mated to someone she had never met, living in poverty and starving. And yet she has had one (1) breakdown throughout all of that. This is partly why everyone is so flummoxed in acowar - “what’s wrong with Elain???” Y’all know, you just weren’t used to her actually showing her distress.

Kindness - Buying paints for Feyre seems frivolous, but years later it stood out in Feyre’s mind. Why? Because it was incredibly thoughtful. Imagine a life without beauty, without art, or music, where the only thing you have is survival. Currently, Elain is helping people to rebuild their gardens after those were destroyed during the war. She knows that there is more to the world than pure survival, and she is able to recognize and provide things for people that they might not realize they would benefit from.

Peace-making/diplomacy - when Feyre and Nesta have fought, Elain has repeatedly tried to be a peace maker. Usually, she does this by changing the subject. Feyre also described Elain as being at ease in social situations, going from group to group and making sure that everyone was taken care of. In acotar Elain is described as greeting every guest and dancing with every important son. She was still engaged at this point, and so she wasn’t doing it to ingratiate herself or to find a husband. She was doing it to be a good hostess.

Emotional labor - while Feyre has been busy with the survival of the family and Nesta was busy being angry at their circumstances, Elain did her best to be the positive, sweet sister whom they would never have to worry about. I’ve written extensively about Elain and emotional labor, and I think this is her biggest, if not the most obvious, contribution to the story thus far.

Her strengths do not include politics or combat. She has had 2+ years to learn those skills and has refused. A war happened, and she refused. The only reason she was able to kill Hybern was because he didn’t know she was there. Acting as if she is or could be some secret warrior does a disservice to the strengths that she does have, you know, the ones that are “traditionally feminine”.

Elain also has faults. Some of those include:

Selfishness - some of her broader issues stem from selfishness. You can 100% be selfish while being kind, btw. Feyre describes her not thinking about how other people feel or think about things. I think that some of the following traits I talk about come down to selfishness. I think that Elain wants to be comfortable, above all else, and so sometimes she puts that above what others need (e.g. not going to Nesta’s intervention).

Passivity - As I mentioned above, she isn’t all of these things all of the time; Elain can stand up for herself when the circumstances require. However, she doesn’t do that enough, to the point where she allows herself to accept less than she should, and she allows others to see her as less than she is. She accepts things as they are, rather than pushing for the way that things should be. This does go hand-in-hand with resilience, so for Elain it’s a double-edged sword.

Avoidance. This is primarily avoidance of problems that involve other people. See: refusal to deal with her mating bond, avoiding Nesta’s intervention. Those are two huge, gigantic, enormous issues that she should have faced head-on both for herself (re: the mating bond), and so that she can be there for others (being absent from Nesta’s intervention). This has been a pattern since acotar, when Nesta’s attitude towards her friends was embarrassing Elain, but Elain asked Feyre to do something about it.

Passive aggressiveness. I think this is probably the thing that bothers readers most about Elain. Rather than addressing Lucien, or having a conversation with him, she aggressively ignores him or sits as far away as she can until he goes away. Elain also waits until the wrong moment to knock people over the head with accusations - just because she was right about people making her trauma about them, doesn’t mean that was the moment, or that she had zero control over that.

I am sure that we can think of more of Elain’s strengths - and flaws! - but my point with this post is to show her in a more balanced, realistic light. The fandom seems very obsessed with either this spoiled, bitchy view of Elain, or a girlboss, warrior view, and neither are accurate, imo. Elain is kind and selfish, she is resilient and avoidant. All of those traits work together to make her who she is, and I don’t think that at her core, she will change in her book. I think she will learn more about herself, and come to understand how her faults have harmed her and the people around her, while also understanding how her strengths can be better utilized.

[flickeringart]

Minor aspects

While the nature of the major aspects in astrology is quite straightforward and has been covered more than sufficiently, there’s still a lot of fog surrounding the nature of the minor ones. There are a lot of minor aspects that can be taken into consideration when interpreting a chart… however, since they are labeled minor they won’t be as obvious and much more difficult to spot in one’s own life. Note that this doesn't mean that they aren't impactful. There’s a lot of speculation and vague terms used when describing them. It seems that every minor aspect is said to have a “spiritual/creative dimension” as if that is supposed to clear up any of the mystery surrounding them. Perhaps, on one level, we don’t want to pin them down too much because certainty is the enemy of exploration. Or perhaps it’s the case that the aspects themselves don’t want to be pinned down? There’s an appeal in keeping certain things mysterious in our lives, to avoid defining and putting rigid labels on phenomena. It makes life alive and beautiful. Many people dismiss astrology is because they are afraid that they’re going to be reduced to a set of characteristics and have their personality mapped up to the point of being able to predict and foresee patterns of behavior and fated themes. The fear of knowledge is not irrational; it is probably healthy to an extent. Knowing too much can be dangerous and rob life of its magic. “Curiosity killed the cat”, as the saying goes. However, this is not the whole truth because curiosity also leads to expansion and better understanding, so let’s not be afraid to concretize these aspects, it's not the same as "killing" their potential. Life is never completely in our hands anyway, there's no risk of knowing it all.

Quintile (72°)/Bi-quintile (144°)

These aspects are said to have something to do with individual style and quality of creative work. It is suggested that these aspects say something about a mental-creative process of imposing one’s mind on a particular subject. It is also linked to talent and gifts the individual would possess that have not been actively learned. Basically, it seems to be indicative of the particular way a person would approach a subject. For example, the quintile would not describe the activity itself - the activity could be painting, knitting, running, cleaning or whatever – the quintile/bi-quintile would point to the way the person approaches the activity.

For example, Ted Bundy (whose chart I’ve explored a bit here), has Neptune bi-quintile the MC. Neptune, being the planet of illusion hints to Bundy’s quality of being a chameleon, deceiving the public as part of his personal style.

Prince Harry, (whose chart I’ve touched upon before), has his Moon bi-quintile Neptune. The Moon can be indicative of the mother figure, and his mother Princess Diana certainly had an elusive style and charm that was a bit deceptive and seductive. Of course, he would have the same thing going in his own life but it would perhaps be difficult for us to spot. He also has Moon quintile Venus and he definitely has a style/quality of emotional-physical comfort. He has Pluto quintile the AC, which would point to a style of showing up in the world that is powerful and intense. He has a tendency to come off as destructive and chaotic at times. There’s also a quintile aspect forming between Mercury in the 8th house and the MC which would hint to a public image that is colored by the “taboo” things he has said about his family in the recent present, but also in the past. He’s a public image that is aligning with the style of the playful amoral trickster.

As I’m going with charts I’ve already explored, let’s look at the quintiles in Meghan Markle’s chart. Her Venus is quintile Uranus and it perfectly describes her style of “wokeism”, that is, appearing to be objective and intelligent about feelings and affective values. She has a style of being “the loving humanitarian”. Whether she is this way in an actual sense is debatable. The quintile aspect is describing the quality and style not the actuality. But, it is disturbingly close to reality that it somehow becomes reality. It’s like the actor who adopts another energy signature in order to portray a different person. It doesn’t really matter if a person is rotten at the core - if he has a loving way of being, what difference does it make? The style is real enough to not reflect and give the impression of love.

Semi-square (45°) / Sesquiquadrate (135°)

These aspects are said to precipitate events. The nature of these two aspects is more immediate than the square aspect (which causes tension and doubt and needs constant navigation). The conflict represented is usually unconscious and is therefore not easy to identify. However, as these conflicts tend to manifest quite abruptly, we can take a look at the concrete problems the person faces. The planets connected by a semi-square/sesquiquadrate aspect will be in conflict but force some kind of release (that may result in an accident because of it’s autonomous/unconscious function).

I have Saturn sesquiquadrate my Moon. Since I tend to unconsciously block my emotional responses, the pressure builds and I am “forced” to get out of a situation, “forced to listen to my emotions”. I have encountered the theory that the sesquiquadrate in particular is manifesting as something that is looked down upon societally. This would make sense considering the aspect forces a breakout of one of the planets and nothing that is immediate and abrupt is ever favorably looked upon when it comes to social-societal structure and predictability. I have been meaning to take on commitments that would further my status in society in terms of formal education (Saturn in the 9th conjunct the MC) but I have not been able to do it without considerable decline in my emotional well-being. So, I have been “thrown out” by unconscious forces every time I’ve tried.

My sister has her Venus sesquiquadrate Saturn. She’s known for her deliberate and strategic way of dressing. She plans her outfits carefully, there’s nothing haphazard about the way she presents herself. However, she has Lilith conjunct Venus so she can push the limits and simply do what she pleases sometimes as well when the pressure of Saturn becomes too much. But, this often causes external judgment. A relative of mine has her Sun semi-square Venus. I can tell that she’s highly aware of her appearance. She is very pretty but there’s always something that is a bit off between what she wears and her self-expression. It’s like it doesn’t quite fit and it’s irritating.

To get back to the celebrities, Meghan Markle has Neptune sesquiquadrate Mercury. Is it possible that this forces distortion and vagueness in opinion and communication? It would certainly fit the bill. She also has Uranus sesquiquadrate Mars. She simply has to “break out of her confining situations”, cut people out of her life and move on in her own way. Uranus is also sesquiquadrate her MC, which seems to point to her unconscious pull to “do what she wants to do” at the detriment of her public image and reputation. Notably, Uranus sits in her 5th house of personal enjoyment and creation.

Prince Harry has a semi-square between Mars and Pluto. When he is angry it blossoms into rage and he can’t see straight. It has gotten him into quite a lot of trouble and societal-social disapproval. It seems that this is a common theme with the sesquiquadrate and semi-square. He also has his Moon sesquiquadrate Jupiter. Isn’t it the case that he tends to indulge in a way that makes him look bad in society?

Quincunx (150°)

This aspect is typically found between planets incompatible by element and mode. Basically, they have nothing in common and have a hard time cooperating, which will cause minor stress in the individual because of necessity to work around the incompatibilities. The planets are not in direct conflict but they are uncomfortable with each other.

For example, I have my Moon quincunx Mercury. Every time I sit down to write I’m mildly disturbed by little things like an aching back, a headache, restless legs or whatever. It’s not very comfortable for me but I can still keep with it, however it might take a toll on me health wise. The quincunx has been related to health issues because of the mild stress that it causes. It is manageable and one is usually able to cope with the stress, but it’s not very pleasant. Because it is not as demanding as more disturbing conflicts in one’s life, it’s in the background causing irritation.

Meghan Markle’s Venus makes a quincunx aspect to her MC. This suggests that she has a hard time reflecting her value on a public level, it’s as if how she’s perceived publicly disturbs her sense of ease and comfort. She has an Aries MC with a Virgo Venus and she’s continuously depicted as a bully these days, as some kind a selfish and aggressive bitch (the more negative attributes of Aries). This must be undermining her self-worth immensely, however, it’s perhaps too minor of a problem to do anything about. It is still there nonetheless, harping on in the background, breaking her down and causing slow disintegration…

Semi-sextile (30°)

Planets forming semi-sextile aspects are said to be able to aid each other, to have a better connection than if they had no link at all. Usually one planet is in the sign that comes before the sign of the other; in other words, a semi-sextile might be forming between Mars in Aries and Venus in Taurus. The semi-sextile usually connects consecutive sign like this, but planets could be in semi-sextile in the same sign, like Mars in 0° Taurus semi-sextile Venus in 30° Taurus. In any case, the planet placed at an earlier degree or in the earlier sign can draw on qualities of the planet in the later degree or the later sign and vice versa. For example, Prince Harry’s Venus in Libra is semi-sextile his MC. He can draw on his sense of harmony a diplomacy to benefit his public image. His Mars in Sagittarius is also semi-sextile his MC, which makes it so that he can draw from his Martial qualities of energy and action to influence his career and success.

Parallel/Contra-parallel

These are called aspects in declination because they are measured by latitude and not by longitude. This essentially means that two planetary bodies can aspect each other in a certain way measuring the distance between them north-south of the celestial equator. Two planets at the same degree north and south of the equator form a parallel aspect and can be interpreted the same as a conjunction (some say that it's more obscure like a quincunx/semi-square). Two planets opposite each other north and south form a contra-parallel aspect and can be interpreted as an opposition (some say that it's basically the same as the parallel though).

I have found, looking at my own chart that these aspects only confirms already existing aspects measured by longitude or it confirms the sign that a specific angle is in. For example, my MC is in Aries and it is also parallel Mars. Mars is the ruler of Aries so it emphasizes my already martial MC. My Sun is conjunct Saturn and it’s also parallel Saturn. My sister has a Scorpio MC and it’s also parallel Pluto, the natural ruler of Scorpio. For example, my sister has a wide Moon-Mars conjunction (6°) but they are also in contra-parallel. How is this supposed to be interpreted? I would simply see it as Moon-Mars is connected strongly despite the orb being a little wide with the conjunction.

However, it’s not always the case that parallel and contra-parallel aspects only confirms already existing influences. They can also add themes and connections. My sister doesn’t have any longitude aspects between Saturn and Uranus but they are contra-parallel to each other.

Septile (51.43° - a 1/7 of the 360°)

It is said to indicate a hidden flow of energy between the planets involved, an inner sensitivity to the spiritual dimension of the planets. Another description I have come across is that the planets “darkly interact” and there’s an occult theme surrounding the connection.

I have Venus septile Jupiter in my own chart. Going by the said method of interpretation, it would mean that I have sensitivity to the hidden wealth and underlying beauty and abundance in life. I think it is quite accurate.

Novile (40° - 1/9 of the 360°)

Is said to be describing a contact of perfection/idealization. It also seems to have something to do with spiritual awakening and growth, lack of fear and freedom.

Having Sun novile Saturn for example could be interpreted as a feeling of communion with the world and life itself through responsibility and the control one can exercise through self-expression.

----

There are of course other minor aspects to explore, but I'll stop here for now.

[ageofevermore]

Eighteen | T. Holland

Summary → you’re tired of feeling like the world silences you, but after an interview with sebastian and anthony, you start to wonder if maybe it’s your fault.

Warning(s) → mentions of anxiety, mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of inequality in gender roles, use of the word slut, fluff if you squint 

Word Count → 1.9k

Note → this is a heavier topic, one that might be personal to some. if you don’t think you can handle the subject matter, please don’t force yourself to. this is relatively watered down, but it doesn’t take a genius to see what’s not being said. the ending features boyfriend!tom consoling the reader, so it does end on a fluffy note, but don’t hold out for those few ending paragraphs. 

add yourself to my taglist 

It’s getting hotter in the interviews. A thin layer of sweat sparkles on your skin, and even though the air conditioning has been turned down multiple times, there are too many people in the room to feel any drastic differences. It’s unfortunate for you. Hot flashes are a lovely addition to your anxiety disorder, and press always sets your nerves ablaze. It doesn't matter what project you’re promoting, who you're partnered with, or what you're wearing-- you’re always hot. 

Your cheeks are flushed dangerously when the last interview before lunch is called for yourself, Sebastian, and Anthony. This is your first press tour as an adult. You joined the marvel franchise years ago, when being eighteen felt like the equivalent of turning thirty, and you weren’t blind to the changes of tone. People were harsher to you, more forward. If they weren’t shutting you up, they were hinting at something less then appropriate, usually something sexual. 

The next interview started with a short introduction to the media outlet, and your interviewer. He was middle aged, kind smile, salt and pepper hair. He asked for your names, then he told you his, and one by one he shook your hands. His grip on you was criminal, lasting longer than was comfortable. Sebastian and Anthony we’re oblivious to the few extra seconds of contact between you and him, but it made your skin crawl in a familiar discomfort. 

Your fingers curled into fists, heart high in your throat. The questions started out easy. They were mostly directed towards the boys, like always, but this time you couldn’t find yourself to be annoyed. You had dealt with handsy and sexually charged men before, but he set a fire beneath you. It wasn’t behavior you should tolerate, but being a woman in the industry, inappropriate touches and glances we’re easier ignored then dealt with. When you spoke up you caused drama, made headlines, attracted nasty social media comments that called you a whore. It was easier to just internalize. 

“Y/N.” 

You hummed, looking towards the call of your name. He was smiling sweetly at you again, a predatory glint in his eyes that put you on edge. You shifted your weight closer to Anothony unconsciously giving the hungry man your professional attention and a nod. 

He shuffles through his index cards, but his eyes don’t read the scripted questions his employers have supplied him with. It’s not often male interviews do their own research, usually they’re briefed by a colleague and handed a set of questions and topic point by a higher level employee, but this man doesn’t even read the card before he’s staring you down and opening his mouth. 

“You finally got the Stark suit update,” He says, motioning towards the promo poster that shows off your CGI suit in all of its edited glory. Although the actual costume is breathtaking, the computer effects give it an entirely different, more technologically charged, feel. 

“Yeah,” You nod, a forced smile on your lips as you try to ease the uncomfortable tension from your tone. “She’s finally--” 

He cuts you off before you can give him any explanation for the upgrade. He isn’t the first one to address your new wardrobe, but he’s the first one to leave you antsy and uncomfortable. Sebastian frowns when you’re cut off, but he doesn’t think much of it. He lets the man continue, though a professional sharpness pulls his grin into a scowl. 

“Were you able to wear undergarments underneath it? It’s tight, doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Was there ever a moment where you reflected how much your wardrobe has changed through the years?” He asks, a dirty grin on his lips. 

Sebastian and Anthony are shocked at the blunt, inappropriate construction of his question. The public eye knew nothing of your battles with body image, or health concerns that lead to surgery. Your mind was plagued with doubts and self-criticism, and his invasive, pervy question both infuriated you and broke you apart. 

You stutter to find an answer, heat overwhelming you. Your hand grips onto Anthony’s arm, and you can’t decide whether anger is what burns your skin or anxiety. Are you making a big deal of this? You don’t know. You feel like you have every right to feel violated and uncomfortable, but you’re a young woman in the entertainment industry, isn’t this the kind of ignorant commentary you signed up for? You don’t know anymore. You grew up with people always having an opinion on your appearance, sexualizing you as early as twelve. You’ve carried around pepper spray and  self-defense keychains long before you even had an understanding towards predatory men and sexual assault. You’ve been conditioned by the world and the media to carry on with your day, no matter the broken boundaries or disrespect. You’re tired of remaining silent, feeling like your less than your male counterparts. Women and men should hold no differing values in society, and yet you walk to your apartment with keys between your fingers and Tom doesn’t even lock his front door. 

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question.” You choke out, voice hard and nowhere near the soft and frilly pitch it usually obtains. You’re livid, absolutely pissed to the point of a quivering cupids bow. You’re humiliated, and horrified. Your feelings are everywhere, but you remain as professional as you can. If you yell, try to defend yourself at all, you’ll be painted as a diva in every media outlet for the next week, subliminally inviting backlash and slut-shaming comments into your social media messages. If Sebastian and Anthony come to your defense, they’ll be sung high-praises. 

The double standards men and women are held to, especially in the industry, is infuriating. 

He stumbles out a response, but his time is already up. For the first time today, you’re thankful these interviews are only ten minutes. He leaves the room, shown out by security, and even then he still sends you a wink over his shoulder as if your glimmering eyes meant nothing. 

“Hey,” Sebastian's voice is soft, his hand on the small of your back. You flinch away from his contact, head heavy in memories you’d rather forget. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, voice trembling with tears that you refuse to let fall. You’ve already been humiliated, you don’t need to further paint yourself as some helpless teenage girl. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go find Tom.” 

Anthony and Sebastian nod tightly. They watch as you quiver in your heels, hands clenched into fists at your sides. They’re proud of the way you handled yourself, though still absolutely enraged that any adult would find it appropriate to address you like that, especially in a professional setting. 

You stumble into the dressing rooms, right into your boyfriend's chest. Your mind is racing, but the minute you attach yourself to him, you break down. Shy sobs break Tom’s heart. He holds the back of your head to his chest, other hand on the small of your back and wrapped around your waist as you cry. You’re trying to stay quiet, but the attention is already on you. Chris and Robert are worried, and Zoe’s trying to act like she hasn’t noticed, but they don’t all watch as you try to console yourself with your boyfriend's warmth. 

“What happened?” Tom’s voice is soft, trying to keep this a private moment. He tries to move the both of you back into a corner, but you panic and squeeze around his waist tighter. “Baby,” 

You and Tom have been dating for six months, and although you’ve shared with him stories of your traumatic experiences as a woman living in LA, he’s never seen anything upset you like this. 

“I’m such a slut.” Your words come out so shy and small, you aren’t even sure you can hear yourself. No matter how  many times you tell yourself that your makeup and clothes don’t give men permission to make passes or feel you up, it’s getting harder to believe that your verbal consent is as strong as your clothes. Maybe you are asking for it, and in a wave of nausea, disgusted with yourself, your arms leave Tom’s waist to pull at the bottom of your borrowed dress. 

You’ve been hit on in sweats before. In ball gowns and crop tops. Somebody’s even pushed themselves against you while you wore Tom’s hoodie, but you still convince yourself that it’s your fault. That you we’re asking for it. 

Tom’s jaw sets harshly into place, and he tilts your chin upwards to meet his eye. His brown stare is hard, only adding to your distress. Maybe he agrees. Maybe he’ll blame you for what just happened. He’s probably going to break up with you. Other guys just can’t keep their hands and eyes off of you. He doesn’t want a slut for a girlfriend. 

“What the fuck did you just say, Y/N?” His tone causes you to flinch, words bouncing off of the dressing room walls. Everyone flinches, hearing only his heavy response. You try to divert your attention, but Tom squeezes your jaw, forcing your eyes back on his. “Say it again.” 

“I’m such a slut.” You sniffle, submitting beneath his fiery glare. Tensions are high as you try not to break down again. Apart from Tom, everyone in the room has watched you grow up, never losing that shy and sweet sense of yourself. You’re an exuberant light, a brilliant scene partner, a rising star who has big things in store for the future. You are many things, but a slut, isn’t one of them. 

Tom looks behind you, glaring straight at Anthony and Sebastion who are both stone eyed and still. They’ve not calmed down any since leaving the production room, instead, it seems their anger has only risen. The sight of you so distraught churns their stomachs. 

“Some asshole tried to make a pass.” Sebastion said in short, words angry and delivered as such. 

Tom’s breath hitched, his arms tightening around you and pulling you closer to his chest. His chin digs into your crown, eyes pinches shut as his hot exhale feels heavy. 

“You aren’t a slut, Y/N.” He doesn’t leave any room for argument, but you try anyways. Tom has no patience for it, and so he tilts your head back and plants his lips against yours harshly and eagerly, desperate to show you love and intimacy. “You. Aren’t. A. Slut.”

You nod, ducking your head back down into his chest as you try to believe him-- try to remember that you never asked for hands around your waist, or cupping your boobs. Wolf whistles, or handshakes that turn into forced frontal hugs. You didn’t ask for any of the harassment, no matter the outfits you wore and what they revealed.  

Tom lowers his voice, whispers melting into your hair, “This isn’t your fault, baby. Please believe me. None of this, is your fault. It’s disgusting and inappropriate, and you don’t deserve to deal with any of it.” 

You sniffle. You can’t tell him you believe him, not yet. Not when your heart is so heavy. Maybe one day you’ll believe him, but that’s just not now. 

taglist (urls with a strike through won’t let my tag) →

@deionswannabegirl @killingbxys @mauvesdior @mischiefandi @dmonchld @waddlenut @tanakaslastbraincell @hollandsxheart @quacksonhehe @tothemoonandbackx3000 @stiles-o-dylan24 @tikapollak @tomthetease @spookybooisa @geminiparkers @teen--marvel @rogersparkerbarnes @sarcasticallywitty15

[bimsha]

Break The Rules (Kazutora x Reader)

(Kazutora Hanemiya x Reader)

Kazutora Hanemiya doesn’t like school. Like, no offense but sometimes he just needs a break from all the studies and the teachers who pile up an assignment after an assignment. He sighed, walking through the familiar stairs. After an hour-long lecture from their English teacher, he will never be ready for the Science period next. He walked up the familiar staircase. Sometimes, it was his happy place: the place where he will be when things get rough. Sometimes, when he just needed a break, he would go up the stairs and open the door to the cozy rooftop. The wind brushing through his hair. He just enjoyed the silence, the peace. He readjusted his bag and slung it over one of his shoulders reaching to the cold, metal doorknob. He was about to twist it to the side and escape to the warm summer breeze when his ears caught the sound of a guitar. Hanemiya stopped, tilting his head to the side, wondering.

To begin with, he ignored the sound, thinking it was all in his head. That’s when a tune started to catch his years. A soothing tune: slow and deep. It was somewhat confusing not knowing what he would meet from the other side of the door. Hanemiya wrapped one of his hands around the black stripe of his backpack and opened the door. It was all the same, just as he left yesterday evening. The summer breeze kissed his skin as he walked out. The bench in front of him was occupied. He had seen her before. A glimpse or two when they passed the hall. That was it. He didn’t know her name and he didn’t mind that either. It was a big school, you are not bound to learn anyone’s names after all. The girl didn’t look up when he stepped to the rooftop. Her eyes were focused on the guitar. Her finger smoothly plucked each string with ease producing the same lyrical, melodic music he heard before.

“Nice tune,” He said, unable to handle the silence only broken by the sound of the melody. She looked up, her dark eyes surprised by his sudden words. That’s when Hanemiya realized she had not even heard him enter. Quite the prey for a serial killer.

She narrowed her eyes, placing the guitar on her lap, “You’re skipping classes.”

No Hi. No, Who are you? Just stating facts. Hanemiya shrugged, “I can say the same for you.”

She rolled her eyes, readjusting the guitar, “I have music now. The teacher is absent. I’m practicing on my own.”

“Such a nerd” The male muttered under his breath, taking a seat beside her.

She didn’t react, instead, she ran her smooth fingers across the guitar strings. It was like she was creating her own magic with music. Hanemiya watches for few long seconds: “You know, your music is pretty good.”

She looked surprised, “Uh, thanks?”

He shrugged, leaning back. “It’s not that surprising to hear. I bet you get that all the time.”

She gave him a sideways glance, “Not really, you sure you aren’t going to get in trouble because of skipping class?”

She was trying to change the subject, Hanemiya realized. But he didn’t say anything. He, out of all people, knew that sometimes people needed a break. “I am trouble, girl.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes, “Well, I guess I have heard about your troubles a lot” She said, making air quotes.

Hanemiya grinned, “Glad to know I’m pretty popular, Uhm…” He grimaced, she knows his name but he doesn’t.

“Y/n” She simply replied. Just as if someone who’s used to be forgotten. Like someone who didn’t care about being forgotten.

“Right,” Hanemiya said, rubbing his hands together.

“I don’t make trouble, so people don’t know me,” She said, standing up. Hanemiya raised an eyebrow as she opened her black guitar case and carefully placed the instrument inside. He watched her moves, carefully. From her care for the guitar, it was evident how much she loved music.

“Once in a while, everyone needs to be in trouble.” He said. He didn’t know why he felt that but today he didn’t feel like going back to classes at all. “Without that, life gets boring”

She slung the strap over her shoulder, “I’m the kind who lives a boring life. Excuse me.”

“Wanna break the rules with me? For today?”

She turned in surprise. Her eyes widen, her fingers tightly wrapped around the black strap. “Huh?”

He gave her a sheepish grin, pushing back one of his stray bangs from his face. “You don’t look like you want to go back at all. You can use a little excitement.”

She looked as if she’d reject and Hanemiya wouldn’t have been surprised. They barely knew each other and never have talked before. But something about her made him feel different. It was almost sad that she didn’t have any excitement, hope in those beautiful eyes. She is missing out on the best things in life. “I don’t trust you” She boldly stated, “But yeah, I don’t want to go back.”

A smile crept upon his lips, “Wanna go?”

She nodded hesitantly, “I hope we don’t end up in jail” She murmured. Hanemiya grinned, walking out of the rooftop with her.

“Honestly, I hope so too”

He looked over his shoulder to see whether his statement has shaken her. But her face betrayed no emotion except for the same plain look. He was going to put light into those eyes today. Sneaking out of school was not the hard part. Hanemiya had done it countless times. You just need to know the right hallways and turn from the right corners. Soon, both of them were standing outside of the school, facing the clear view of the road and Hanemiya started leading her to the alley beside.

Each step was conscious. You were ready to flee at any given moment as you followed him towards the alley. In the school, Hansemiya didn't have the best reputation, but there were worse guys, and all you wanted to do today was escape. On other days, you might’ve even rejected if he asked to snitch school and go out during school hours. But lately, you haven’t felt anything. Your only friend was your guitar and your music. You could use something else to drown your thoughts. Hanemiya told you to wait by as he walked deeper into the street. His figure losing in the shadows of the dark alley. You waited, looking around. The main street was nearly empty. All the people were working, all the students studying inside schools. You stared at a nearby stray puppy limping through the road when you heard the sound.

It was a surprise that caught your heart in a storm. There he was, in front of you with a black motorbike, designed thoroughly with dragon stickers. Honestly, you didn’t know much about them but the motorbike looked pretty cool. Hanemiya had changed his school uniform with a black jacket. He tossed you a helmet and grinned, “Let’s escape”

You looked at it unsurely, “You ain’t gonna wear one? Do you have the license for that thing? Are you going to kidnap me?”

He rolled his eyes, “I don’t kidnap girls in broad daylight. C’mon, who do you think I am?”

“A stranger” You replied putting on the helmet and tightening the strap making sure you won’t bust your head if you get into an accident. Looking at his balance and the familiarity he had, like the motorbike was his second personality, you didn’t doubt his skill to ride it.

“Don’t worry, get on. This buddy is my best friend” He said, giving you a sheepish look, patting the seat of the bike.

Something clicked inside your heart. You didn’t remember how many times you have called your guitar your best friend. For the first time, you looked at him a bit more closely. He doesn’t seem to be a person with many friends and behind the excitement of his eyes, there was a hint of sadness. It was barely there, but it existed. You got on behind him and held onto his jacket as he raced through the streets of Shibuya. The trees, cars, people passed you by a blur. Like a watercolor painting ruined by water. Still, there was a beauty in it. Ruined and broken things always had this beauty to them. You just had to look a little bit harder, you just have to be more careful and vigilant. Hanemiya took a sharp turn, breaking your thoughts. You yelped in surprise, holding onto him tightly as you closed your eyes. You could hear his chuckle at your surprise. “You know what is the best feeling in Biking?”

“What is it?” You raised your voice a little because you had to cut through the wind to speak to him.

“It’s escape, Y/n. When I bike, I feel free. No one can touch me. Everyone just passes by me so fast. Sometimes, I feel like I’m escaping to another universe. Just me, the wind and the sound of my friend. It’s a different feeling” Hanemiya tilted his head slightly, taking another turn. “And today, there’s another person sharing my universe, that’s you”

You could feel your cheeks heat up. It should be the rush of wind, you thought as he spoke again, “Quick advice, don’t close your eyes. Open them wide and see. This is freedom!” He yelled the last part, breaking into a peal of soft laughter.

You decided to give it a try. You sat up a little straighter still holding on tight for him. You tipped your chin back slightly, feeling the wind cutting through your face, the harsh wind was comfortable in a unique way. You stared at the blue sky, painted with white tufts of clouds. Everything seems to pass you by, just as he said. It felt like escape, freedom. “This is awesome” You blurted out, leaning against his back, talking against his ear that he might actually hear.

He nodded, “Told you so!”

When he finally stopped beside the grassy plain of the river, you felt a little at loss. You were almost at a zone while you were on that bike. It was like suddenly, all the thoughts inside your mind disappeared leaving you floating in your own dream world. A place where you felt belong. He parked his motorbike and told you to wait. Surely, a lot of waiting, you thought. You sat down by the grass, placing your guitar beside you, waiting for this boy who appeared into your life out of nowhere. “I’m back!” He chirped, jumping behind you.

You turned to see him, holding on two popsicles and the ever-growing grin on his face. “Summer is the time for ice cream,” He said, handing you one.

You unwrapped it and tasted the chocolate and the minty flavour. He was not eating it smoothly, or correctly, you noticed as you looked at him in surprise. He was practically chewing down the popsicle. You cringed, “How are you even-”

He turned with a quizzical look, “Oh, I like the ice cream cold?”

You blinked, “What are your grades? Honestly? Ice cream is supposed to be cold. That’s why you call it ice cream.”

He juts out his bottom lip, “I was just trying to give you a reason.”

You hummed, “Do you often do this? Skip school I mean.”

Hanemiya put away the wrapped and laid down on the river bank, shielding his eyes from the direct sunlight on his face. “When I think it’s too much to handle, I do”

You looked at him. His sandy eyes looked distant. Pale skin shadowed with the silhouette of his own hand. You saw it again, the lingering sadness like chains he could not escape. You wondered the reason behind that. Just maybe, there was no reason at all. It’s just the way it is. We’re all a little sad and broken. Even though others expect us to be perfect, we just can’t and that’s the truth for everyone. “Don’t you ever feel lonely? You’re alone when you’re riding, no one in your little universe. It’s just you.”

He turned to look at you, “Sometimes, but I liked loneliness. When I’m with myself, no one can hurt me. I like it.”

“And you hate it too” Your reply was instant. He blinked in surprise, then a small smile drew out of his lips. You understood it: the nature of loneliness.

“Yeah, I hate it too” His voice was open than before. It was like the boy beside you was starting to open up slowly. He knew she understood and she knew he did too. “I’ve shown you my freedom” He propped himself on elbows, “Can you show me yours?”

It took you a second to realize he was looking at the guitar case resting beside you. You ran your hand through the smooth black fabric before deciding, it was only fair you show your freedom too. You put down the wrapper and carefully took out the guitar. Your finger idly running through the strings, embracing the melodies and the beauty of the sound. Almost magical to your ears. It had always been like this. When you held your guitar, you’re in your own little world. A parallel universe you made for yourself just as Hanemiya said. Your fingers ran through the strings with great familiarity. The melody was soothing for your ears. Your music spoke the words you couldn’t say. It was your outlet. Your way of telling the world that you’re lonely. There’s no beauty in sadness. That’s why your melodies always spoke the plain truth. The truth to your heart, to your soul. “Miya,” You said, turning to him after you finish one song. “This is my freedom. My way of escape.”

He nodded, “I like the nickname”

You flushed, “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize-”

He shook his head hushing you, “You were in the zone. Your music, it’s so beautiful Y/n. I love how it speaks raw and plain truth.” He turned to the river flowing in front of you, “And your eyes shine when you play. Like you have found the excitement” He smiled, “Your happy place”

The smile on your face was effortless, “Like you with your bike.”

“You know it!”

You two shared your ideas and talked with each other. You found comfort in his words as you had never found before. You had never known what it felt like to meet a person who understands. Understand the chaos in your soul. The deepness in your mind. You started to play another song. This time, the melody was a bit hype, because you’re happy. He dropped his head into your shoulder, relaxing. You stopped playing for a minute, unsure of your next move when he sleepily murmured, “Keep playing.”

So, you did. You didn’t know what this was. A boy sleeping beside you, soothed by your music. A boy who understood you’re not perfect and not supposed to be. A boy who showed you his world while you showed him yours. You didn’t know what to call this feeling, so you played it on the guitar. The feeling of butterflies. The feeling of belonging.

After few hours, you two finally decided it was time to leave. There was something you were holding back, the reason for you to be so down the whole day. “Y/n?” He asked, seeing you spacing out. “Are you okay?”

“It’s my birthday, you know” You weren’t looking at his face. You were staring at the river. There was a reason you loved rivers, no matter the challenges they never stop. “No one remembered. I didn’t expect them to. It would be nice if someone did” You scratched the back of your head, “Sorry, that was dumb”

You heard his footsteps before you saw his face right in front of you. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner!?”

You shrugged, “You used to be a stranger a few seconds ago”

He took a step back and pulled out his wallet, surprising you. He frowned, his face drawing into a deeply thinking expression. “Oi,” You said, “What’s that look for?”

He pouted, “It’s just I don’t have enough money to buy you anything.” He looks as if the gods have decided to send him to hell.

“I don’t need anything” You flushed, “I just told you because-”

He cut you off, wrapping one of his arms around you pulling you into a tight hug. You stiffened for a moment, before finally hugging back, pressing your face onto his leather jacket. “There’s something I can still give you” His voice was muffled. The two of you pulled away and stared at each other for a second. You didn’t guess his next action. Didn’t see it coming either. He brushed his lips against your own. The tiniest speck. The softest intimacy. “Happy Birthday, Y/n. Next year, I’m gonna make it special, I promise”

You closed your eyes for a second, “So, you’re going to kidnap me next year too?”

Hanemiya ruffled your hair, “Yeah, I’m gonna kidnap you from the rooftop next year too.”

You didn’t know why, but you trusted him when he said he’ll remember. “I’ll be waiting.”

“For a hot biker to kidnap you? Geez, Y/n, your imagination is sure wild” He teased, laughing.

“Not just any biker, the dork named Miya is the only one” You shot back, it was his time to flush.

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” He said, exaggerating his surprise as he clutched his heart dramatically.

“I always had it in me, the other people were not keen enough to draw out this side.” You flipped your hair, imitating his dramatic actions.

“What is this? A teen drama?” He huffed, slipping his hand to yours. His long slender fingers fitting right in yours. You both stared at the river for one last time before getting on the bike.

You never held someone so close in your life. It was like no one understood you, and never accepted you for who you are. You were insecure about your flaws, about those imperfections. But he made you feel right. He made you realize it’s okay to be imperfect. He found the meaning behind your music and saw right through you. Kazutora Hanemiya: a boy who knew about the art of loneliness. Who went behind the things he loved to make himself feel something. The only person who understood you. Walking with him, your hands intertwined. You realized how lucky you stumbled into him. How lucky you agreed to break the rules with him. Every second, every minute was worth it.

Happy Birthday to one of the loveliest people in the whole world! I love you Oya! Have a great birthday sweetheart! ❤❤❤❤❤❤

[catboyshinsou]

nightmares

pairing: shinsou x gn!reader

warnings: graphic descriptions of a nightmare, blood, death, panic attacks ?, kitty nickname, pro hero shinsou (sfw)

summary: you just moved in with shinsou but somehow nightmares have been plaguing you. one night you have the worst one yet

a/n: ty for 200 followers!! <33

Shinsou didn't sleep much. There was too much on his brain for him to waste precious time on sleep, there was too much to do, too much to think about. He knew it wasn't the healthiest thing to do but it's not like he deprived himself of sleep, his body just didn't let him and there wasn't much he could do about it. As an active Pro Hero there were just some sacrifices to be made for the job and if sleep loss was one of them then so be it.

You, on the other hand, managed to maintain a quite healthy sleeping schedule next to him. At least you tried to get continuous six hours of sleep every night, even if that still wasn't nearly enough for an average human being. But what could you do, there was a lot to do and not enough time to do it.

For some reason, Shinsou worried about you not sleeping enough. You chuckled when he brought it up to you at breakfast when you moved in with him.

“I don't think you're one to speak, Hitoshi.”

“Are you saying me not sleeping is something to not be worried about?”

You rolled your eyes and drank your tea. “I get enough sleep, don't worry about it okay?”

The dark circles under your eyes rivaled his, earning a frown from your boyfriend. He didn't like seeing you tired. He never has. Even though you were always tired, according to you, he could tell when your sleep quality was declining.

“Have you been having nightmares again?”

His purple eyes met yours as he swirled the coffee in his mug. Rain hit against the window and you heard the trees rustling in the wind.

Waking up in cold sweat, panting and almost crying before rushing to the bathroom to shock your system with cold water. It was a picture and feeling you knew too well. Nightmares and terrors did indeed haunt you like a little girl haunted a house. You've tried everything to ease them; medication, meditation, yoga, asmr, everything and still you had one at least once a week.

With the move into Shinsou’s apartment (because he was almost always working and wanted to see you more and his place was closer to your workplace anyway), it didn't really get better either even though his arms afterwards were always comforting. It felt more like symptomatic help not like you were finding a cause to make it stop though.

You took a deep breath. Was there a point in lying when he'd find out soon enough that you laid in bed almost scared to fall asleep when he was on night patrol because he wouldn't be there to calm you down if you did have one? Well, was it lying since you in theory didn’t currently have any nightmares?

“You know that no answer is an answer as well, kitty...” His low and soft voice crept up your neck as he put his arms around you. In the moments you were contemplating how much lying made sense, he'd finished his coffee and made his way to you for a lazy hug from behind.

He smelt nice, his slightly damp hair against your cheek as he rested his head on your shoulder. The purple tuffs tickled you as he got comfortable in the crook of your neck. You put his arms over his, on your tummy and took another breath.

“So you haven't been sleeping at all then?”

The only time you've been feeling comfortable and safe was when Hitoshi came home at 4 in the morning, slipped out his hero gear and got into bed with you. You, always pretending to be sleeping so he didn't worry, just waited for his whispered “goodnight kitty, i love you” as he put his arms around you for three or four more hours of sleep with you. Only then could you close your eyes and let yourself sink into your feared REM phase.

“You worry too much for me, 'Toshi…” With an exhausted sigh you leaned back, your head on his shoulder behind you. You traced circles on his forearm, feeling his goosebumps as you did.

“I'd be a crap hero if I cared for the general public but not for my love at home, wouldn't I?” He placed a kiss on your temple. “So?”

“I've been sleeping fine.”

“Y/n.” He stretched the last part of your name, his voice vibrating up your neck.

“You're free for the weekend right?”

Shinsou sighed at your attempt of changing subjects, not having enough energy to insist on you telling the truth. He hummed in response.

He had a two day break from hero work or at least from patrolling and going in. There was a ton of paperwork sitting on his desk for him, as well as 50 unread emails he had to get to. But he didn't complain. At least you were there to keep him company while you did your thing.

The two of you finished up breakfast and started into your day of free time which was actually just work in disguise.

Before you knew it, the day had passed and both of you laid in bed together, attempting to sleep. Well, you did. It was already well past midnight, everything around you quiet except for Shinsou who hummed a tune next to you and tapped on his keyboard.

He had his laptop on his lap, answering some more emails and scheduling their sending for 7am while making sure you knew he was there. You could feel his warmth under the blanket but the auditory reassurance helped.

You were on your tummy, facing away from you while hugging your pillow since your actual boyfriend wasn't up for cuddles right now. With closed eyes, you rolled over to face him.

“Hitoshi, go to sleep”, you said in a drowsy voice, half asleep yourself. “You can send the emails when you wake up…”

Shinsou just gave you a quick chuckle before kissing your head. “I'll be done in a minute, kitty. I just need a few more and then I’m all yours, I promise.”

His humming continued and he put his hand on your back, stroking it up and down until you were completely asleep. Your breaths got deeper and you moved around less, making your boyfriend smile.

It felt as if he had just gotten a toddler to sleep after watching a superhero movie, even if you had not been staying awake because you were restless but because you refused to go to bed if he wasn't in it. He had promised you that he would come to bed as soon as he could but both of you were stubborn. It was just a staring contest until Shinsou got up and carried his laptop to the bedroom with you pulling him at his hand.

Now, you laid next to him in peaceful manner, breathing, recharging.

"Toshi?”

You ran down the staircase, struggling with the heavy doors that separated each floor.

“Hitoshi?”

It never seemed to end, doors after doors after doors after doors. It was just doors going on. Heavy metal doors, painted white with cheap paint. It still smelled like paint in some of the staircases.

Your hands started slipping off the handles, sweat covering them like a thick layer of honey. You could hear a faint voice behind this even heavier door, needing your whole strength to open it up.

The clear sweat on your hands started staining the handle red. You pulled them back and stared at the blood covering your palms before looking back up and seeing Shinsou bloodied up in front of you.

He was panting, his face swollen and bruised and his hands tied behind his back. On his knees, he fell towards you with his capture weapon now a bright red instead of the usual dirty white.

“OH MY GOD, HITOSHI?”

You pushed him back to find the source of the flood, opening his hero suit and trying to untie his hands before he spat out blood all over you.

“You'll be fine okay? Everything is gonna be okay, you just need to stay awake and I'll find where you're bleeding from and it's gonna be fine, you can't leave me okay?”

A waterfall of words left you as you laid him on his back and examined his body. He just laughed and stared at the ceiling, his usually bright purple eyes now dull and almost grey.

You located his wound at his tummy right above the belly button, splurging out blood with his heavy breath. There was a faint whistle whenever he exhaled, you examined his chest and could feel a clearly broken rib.

Oh god, you weren't any type of medical care practitioner, what were you supposed to do?? Think, think, think…

“Kitty…” Shinsou put his cold hand on your tear stained cheeks.

“Shhh, don't talk okay??? I just need a second to figure things out, you'll be fine just- just stay awake okay??”

A hoarse chuckle left him. “Sorry for staining your white shirt… I know you always complain about how it never properly washes…”

He faded away, the cold of his hands on your cheeks leaving you last before you were met by a blinding light.

“Hi-hitoshi??? HITOSHI???”

You looked around. There was a field of red roses around you, the bloodstains gone from the scene of a few seconds ago. It smelt metallic.

There was a sticky feeling beneath your shoes. Something told you to not look down. Not avert your eyes from the endless field of roses in front of you. But you were stubborn and never learned out of your mistakes.

You were met with a puddle of blood, Shinsou’s dead body at your feet along with your close friends and family. They surrounded you, eyes open and skin drained of any blood. The roses dripped with their blood, dancing in the wind.

You tried screaming but the only thing that left you was silence, a dreadful high pitched beep in the distance. The tears fell like you did to your knees to touch your loved ones for the last time.

A deep breath forced you awake, eyes fluttering open as you checked your surroundings. You gripped your bedsheets, hoping to find Shinsou next to you but the space was empty and cold.

The tears started falling as you got on your feet and tumbled towards the bathroom.

It was only a dream right? Not a flashback or a future forecast, right? Your quirk didn't have anything to do with looking into the future or past, so it couldn't be, it couldn't be…

“Hi-hi-hitoshi??” With a weak voice, you called out as you doused the nape of your neck with cold water, your head in the sink in a position that was more than just uncomfortable.

Your mind was too foggy to remember who it was that advised you to “shock” your system with cold water but whoever it was saved your life more than once. The tears kept falling as you lost feeling in your neck from the overbearing cold water.

“Please just stop, I can't take it anymore…” You sobbed into the sink as you turned off the water.

Heavy footsteps came your way. You sank onto the floor and hugged your knees, feeling the salty tears dripping onto them.

Shinsou lowered down next to you. With more than concern on his face he cupped your face and forced you to look at him. You could only sniffle as he spoke, his words only grazing you. You barely heard him, only saw his mouth move and his head nod.

“I.. can’t... hear… you…” You sniffled between every word, struggling to get air properly. Your body didn't allow you to take a proper breath, only shallow breaths leaving your chest.

It wasn't like your ears suddenly stopped working. You could hear the dripping of the water in the sink and cat pawing at the bathroom window to be let in. But somehow your brain had a hard time processing what Shinsou was saying, somehow translating it to gibberish.

Shinsou watched you, looking at his face and trying your best to stop crying. His thumb caressed your cheek as he tried figuring out what to do. It's been a while since you had a snap out this bad. Last time he used his quirk to make you realise that the dream wasn't real while also calmly easing your body into relaxation. Though he tried keeping his quirk usage on you to a minimum to avoid any type of complications.

Instead he took your hand in his and pressed it as tight as he could without actually hurting you. Sudden pain was one of the easiest ways to snap your body out of panic, physically and mentally. It reminded the body to snap out of it while telling the person that they were indeed real.

“It's over kitty okay?” He kept his tone low and as calm as possible. Even if you couldn't hear him, his tranquility would help you relax as well or at least not stir you up more. “I'm here and you're here. It was only a dream, you're okay now.”

He pressed your hand to his heart. “You feel that? That's my heartbeat, I'm here with you. It was just a dream…”

You focused on your boyfriend and his warm hand around yours. Your breaths got deeper and deeper, Shinsou breathing with you until the tears stopped.

“Hey, see that wasn't so hard was it?” Shinsou smiled, a small sigh of relief leaving him.

Almost immediately, you flung your arms around him and just took him in. He was real. Not dead or a hallucination. He was here and had his arms around you while rubbing your back.

Shinsou had only left the bed for 5 minutes to finish up his emails and put away his laptop. You had been asleep for a while, he was sure that you wouldn't notice his absence so he just got up and finished up his work. Next thing he knew, there was water running in the bathroom and some stuff falling from the shelves.

“You were dying… dead…” You mumbled into his shoulder, eyes still wet. “I couldn't help you and-”

Tears soaked his shirt as you recalled the nightmare. Your tummy turned inside out when you thought back at the grotesque imagery.

“It's okay now. I'm not dead, right?”

“N-no…”

“Can we go back to bed or do you wanna stay awake a little longer?”

It was around 2am now. Even if neither of you had to call in for work in the morning, Hitoshi still wanted to get you to sleep as fast as possible so you could recover from that horrible nightmare.

“Are you gonna be in bed too?”

“I'm all yours…”

You nodded and got on your feet before wiping away the tears. Shinsou followed and patted your back as you washed your face. He liked keeping his hand around you just to put your mind at ease. Around your waist, in your shoulder, in yours… Anywhere just so you knew he was there.

Both of you laid together, you on his chest with his hands on your back. You heard his heartbeat and felt his chest rise and fall. Your arms were wrapped around him and gripped onto him tight.

“Sleep now okay? I'm not going anywhere…”

The drowsiness kicked back in and you closed your eyes, struggling to keep them that way whenever graphic scenes came up again.

“I'm scared…”

“That's okay… Nightmares are scary but they can't do you any harm… And even if they can, I'm here to protect you okay?” Almost like a whisper, he breathed the words into your ear and kissed your forehead. “I'll be here for you all night long until you wake up again…”

You took a quick breath and closed your eyes again. “Can you hum?”

“Of course…”

Maybe it was quirk related, maybe it was just you but Shinsou’s humming always had a relaxing effect on you. He had quite the singing voice actually, though he rarely ever used it outside of home. But any type of music that left him worked like a natural relaxer on you. Combined with his back rubs and temple kisses, your eyes stayed shut and you drifted back into sleep. This time without staircases, roses or blood.

[sparklekitteh]

Come Back to Me 

Chapter 3

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Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x fem!Reader, mention of Jean X Mikasa and Mikasa x Eren, Sasha x Connie (Springles forever <3)

Rating: CH 1-4 SFW, CH 5 is 18+

WC: 1963  (Ch 3 is shorter but promise 4 and 5 are longer and get juicy 😘)

Notes: Modern college AU, characters are aged up to early 20s, idiots to lovers, slowish burn, angst to happy ending, pining, fluff and sappiness, smut eventually

Summary: Y/N discusses why she left Marley U and begins to understand her feelings for Jean.

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Y/N pulled the SUV into the parking lot and scanned the row of beach houses for 25-D, their rented home for the weekend. She found a space as close as she could to the door of the house to make unpacking the truck easier, especially Jean’s bundled canvas.

 

Jean turned to the backseat, “Hey guys, we’re here. Make sure you take your debris to the trash bin.”

 

“Yes, Dad,” Connie mocked him as he began stuffing the wrappers and empty soda bottles into a trash bag Y/N had provided for them behind the driver’s seat.

 

“My car my rules, Son,” Jean sneered playfully as he threw his empty paper coffee cup at Connie’s buzzed head.

 

“Hey dumbass, no fair that I have to pick up your trash too!”

 

Sasha stretched and dropped her snack packages into the trash bag. “Who’s going to help me haul in these coolers?”

Jean and Connie immediately volunteered each other but Jean ended up carrying them while Connie brought the other luggage, taking care not to drop anything like he had that morning. Y/N found herself watching Jean pick up the heavy coolers with ease as she reached for the grocery sacks in the back. His eyes caught hers for a second.

 

“What?” he huffed as the lid on the bottom cooler wobbled in his hands, prompting him to set it down on the pavement.

 

“Nothing!” she said too quickly, then admitted the subject of her gaze. “You’ve been hitting the gym.”

 

Jean chuckled as he fit the cooler lid back on then picked it up again. “Yeah, I started going regularly freshman year and I discovered it helped me clear my mind, helped me deal with everything  when I couldn’t get in the headspace to create.”  He nodded toward Y/N as he walked to the door of the beach house. “I haven’t taken the time to say so, but you look good yourself.  Those first couple of weeks back from Marley… no offense, but it seemed to take a toll on you. I was worried about you at first.”

 

“Yeah, Marley wasn’t for me.  I was excited to get the acceptance letter, but it was just too intense and not even what I was hoping for,” she said as she typed in the code on the keypad lock, consulting her phone to make sure she had the right number from the rental agency.

“What were you hoping for?”

 

“I just wanted to learn how to write better, maybe make some connections to publishing or an internship.  Turns out Marley’s lauded creative writing program doesn’t allow for much creativity. I could never figure out what my professors actually wanted on the assignments and it seemed like everything I wrote was nitpicked until it was a weak ghost of its original intent.” She finally got the keypad to accept the code and swung the door open for Jean.  He walked through and then paused to hold the door with his foot so she could set the bags inside. She gave a quick thanks and continued with him to the kitchen. “Anyway, I know it doesn’t have the pull that a degree stamped by Marley would but Paradis has an excellent writing program under Dr. Smith. Everyone thinks of Erwin Smith as the master of speeches but he’s actually a very accomplished author, too.”

 

“Who cares about some fancy name on a paper? For the record I appreciate how you can invent with words things that I could never hope to paint on canvas.” Jean said as he set the cooler down and began quickly filling the refrigerator with its contents. “As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.  I assume you’re happy now, at least?”

 

“Yeah,” she leaned against the counter.  “It’s a lot better in Paradis.  It’s home, my family is here, my friends are here… you’re here.”  She quietly sucked in a breath through her teeth, realizing how brazen that sounded to single him out from the rest of her friends but she figured he already knew he was special to her. She had experienced most of her life with him, from skinned knees to first days at school, all the way up until graduation and saying goodbye from the terminal as she reluctantly boarded her plane. Now she was back and a little selfishly glad that she got to spend time with him without worrying about the dynamics of friend group versus girlfriend. 

 

“I am here,” he agreed and closed the refrigerator. “And I’m glad you are too. ”  He stood rooted to the floor, dusting his hands on his jeans and staring at her.  He seemed to realize he had held his gaze for a long time as he broke it off with a stutter, “Uh… do … would you mind helping me bring in the other stuff?” 

 

“Yep, I’m on it,” Y/N said, pushing away from the counter to get to work.

 

He is special to me.

 

She allowed the thought to ring in her head and it resonated with that gnawing feeling that she had been struggling to define. Is that why she felt that dark twinge when he mentioned Mikasa’s name?  She wanted to be happy for him and didn’t feel it was her place to have an opinion of the stunning girl but something about her had made Y/N feel unsettled. Was it envy?  Her glossy black mane was all Jean could talk about at first and no doubt she was beautiful and brilliant, the best student in the PSU dance program with a perfect GPA in her academic work. Y/N could never hope to be as striking or distinguished as the lovely Mikasa, nor was that really what was nagging at her.  Jean spoke of “Mika” in glowing terms of admiration until later in the blistering Paradisian summer when she noticed he had grown reserved and introspective, so unlike his usually boisterous extroverted self.  She hoped he would tell her more but didn’t want to pry and wasn’t sure it would be helpful for Jean to dwell on the memories. She decided long ago that she would listen if he brought it up but wouldn’t push him further on the subject of his ex. 

 

She followed Jean back out to the SUV and discovered that Connie and Sasha had finished carrying in the rest of the baggage while the two of them talked in the kitchen.  The last remaining piece in the back of the black truck was a large rectangle wrapped in layers of soft ivory linen and more layers of bubble wrap that were held together with a long strip of masking tape. Jean carefully lifted the package, the canvas inside wide enough that it covered his broad chest and stomach, from his collarbone to his knees. 

 

“Wow, that’s the piece?” Y/N glanced up from the bundle to Jean’s face.  He was wearing that faraway expression again but his hazel eyes focused quickly on her and he smiled.  

 

“This is it.  Let’s get everything settled in first, though. Wanna grab some lunch and then hang on the beach for a while?” Y/N concurred and helped him settle the canvas into a corner of the living room. Sasha and Connie walked in from the patio just off the living room and slid the glass door shut behind them.

 

“Uh, good news and bad news… Good news first, there are a couple of chaise lounges and a hot tub out on the patio!” Sasha said, clapping and bouncing on her toes.  “It’s already filled up, just have to turn on the jets and it should be heated real quick.”

 

“Nice. What’s the bad news?” Jean said cautiously.

 

“The rental agency said there are two bedrooms and a pull out couch, right? Well it turns out whoever gets the couch is going to be sleeping on that,” she pointed at the white wicker loveseat that was the only thing that could be considered a couch in the living room. There were several wicker chairs, a wicker coffee table with a glass top, and many small throw pillows with various beach-themed embroidered phrases but not a full-sized couch and definitely not a pull out.

 

Y/N spoke up, “I’ll take it. Obviously you two are going to share a room and Jean will never fit on that loveseat.”  Connie nodded and began moving his suitcase and Sasha’s to the master bedroom, Sasha following close behind and directing him where to place their belongings.

 

“Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” Jean said.  He looked from her to the wicker seating and back.  “That’s not going to be comfortable at all.”

 

“Probably not but you’ll be miserable all weekend, especially after you’ve been cramped up in the car so long.” She gestured to his legs and he rubbed the back of his head where his freshly shaved undercut met his ashy blond hair, bun still poking out of his baseball cap.

 

“Let’s look in the bedrooms, maybe there’s a cot or an inflatable mattress,” he suggested and strode off to do so.  He came back a few minutes later with what looked like thin floral-upholstered foam pads that would fit the chaise lounges on the patio. “Maybe these would be better spread out on the floor? Or we could pull a lounge chair in from outside?”

 

“I’ll figure something out,” Y/N said as she accepted the faded cushions from him and set them next to the wicker sofa. “We’ll worry about sleeping arrangements later. Right now let’s pack some sandwiches in a basket and head down to the beach, ok? I’ll go get changed if you don’t mind taking care of the food.” She flashed a bright smile at Jean and wandered off to the bathroom with her beach tote.

 

A few minutes later she came out of the bathroom with the knitted bikini on -- ivory cotton with turquoise, tiger eye, and rose quartz beads at the ends of the strings tying it on her frame.  She had finished sewing a cotton liner into the bottom garment while watching a movie with Sasha and Connie the night before the road trip while Jean toiled at the studio. She was knotting a tie-dyed turquoise sarong around her hips as Jean rounded the corner with a basket of sandwiches and drinks, explaining that Sasha already packed it for him.  The bright baritone of his voice died as he froze in place and his hazel eyes fell on Y/N. 

“Holy shit…” he muttered softly, then realized he had said it aloud.  “Wow, you look -- I mean… you’re b--” And then he was blushing furiously again, averting his eyes to the basket.

Y/N looked down at her outfit and back to him. “What is it?  Is it coming unraveled or something?”

 

“No, it’s -- damn,” he finally stammered. “That looks great on you, Y/N.”  His eyes didn’t rise to meet hers again and he darted past her to the bedroom as he hurriedly excused himself to get changed as well. When he came out several minutes later with an unbuttoned cobalt blue shirt and sandy colored swim trunks that almost matched his hair, he found Y/N sitting on the wicker couch flipping through a magazine she’d found. 

 

Her eyes involuntarily roamed his sculpted abs up to his chiseled pecs.  “You’re going to have to introduce me to your trainer, Jeanbo.  You’re not the scrawny little pipsqueak from Trost any more.” 

 

Jean stared at her, flustered all over again, then grabbed the magazine from her hands, rolled it up and lightly swatted her on the head with it. “Come on, you nerd, let’s get down to the beach before Sasha comes looking for these sandwiches.”

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Chapter 2 ♡ Chapter 4

@usernamehere91 @deadlyaffairs